


When a Wizard Wishes Upon a Star

by RandomBirdEvent



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Although it will never be referenced, Friendship, Good Albus Dumbledore, Harry could do with a bit of help, Harry really respects Dumbledore, Head Boy Tom Riddle, Hero Harry, Hogwarts, Horcruxes, Hot and Cold, Hurt Harry, I feel obligated to mention that this will be a long fic, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Imprisonment (briefly), In this fic he totally is, It IS a popularity contest, It's Slytherin Harry Potter time, M/M, Manipulation and mind tricks, Networking, School Politics, Selfless Harry, Star-crossed lovers? Maybe, Stressed Harry, Survival mode Harry, Time Travel, Walt Disney must have been a wizard, We will know, Wishing on a star, You know what time it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 101,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomBirdEvent/pseuds/RandomBirdEvent
Summary: Harry Potter is stuck in a cell. The war is lost and he has been captured after his whole ‘coming back to life’ scenario. Whilst he wishes he could be positive and productive, it is fairly hard to do so when you know that all of your friends are either dead or sentenced to it, and you are stuck, powerless, in a cursed cell. So, Harry wishes on a star, in a bleak, melancholic sort of way, for it to give him a chance to make it all right and save the day like he was supposed to.He doesn’t expect for it to actually work.He certainly doesn’t expect for it to work so much that he would be sent back in time.And yet, there he is at King’s Cross Station, inhaling the fossil fuels of the 1940s, bound for Hogwarts. He should have asked the star for an easier ride.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 307
Kudos: 1429
Collections: BooksToMonitor, Time Travel and World Travel





	1. The Cursed Cell

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to 'When a Wizard Wishes Upon a Star'! I'm so happy that you were intrigued enough to read my fic! This is my first fan fiction and I'm excited to see how my writing progresses as I upload more (and I will upload a lot because I'm terribly bored). I hope that you enjoy and stick around for any future fics that I might upload. I will pop notes at the end of the chapter from now on, unless it is more appropriate to put one at the start. Alright, I'm gonna disappear now. Enjoy the fic!

Harry felt as if he were the only living thing in the world. He hadn’t seen another person for hours and he feared that he would never again. The stone of the walls seemed alien, and felt it to, as it ebbed cold into his bones and sucked out both warmth and magic from his body at a rate to make it just uncomfortable enough that he hadn’t been able to sleep for hours. His head laid rested on the barred entrance to his cell whilst on the opposite wall, there was a small barred box of a window. His vision was fixed on it, or rather what was beyond it, as he felt it was the only thing keeping him fixed to sanity. The stars twinkled like tears and thin wads of cotton wool moved to wipe them every so often, although, they soon were gone and the tears were left flow again. If Harry had the power to do anything, it would be to relate to that sky.

Harry had thought that he knew what loss was. Afterall, he had lost so much, more so than others perhaps, he had even caused loss simply by existing. But never had he truly ached so much as when Voldemort split that slit for a mouth into a smile as he looked down at Harry’s wasted, defeated body or when his cronies could be heard cackling from the sacred rooftops of Hogwarts as they danced in victory into the night. Never had his heart bled in his body as it did when he realised that he was the one who had stamped out all the hope left in the world and had left it to rot like that thing in King’s Cross. But the worst part, the part that had his spirit reeling, was that he was alive and sitting in this cell while everyone else died because he was so incompetent that he couldn’t be trusted to die. He had always found being special awkward and uncomfortable, now he despised it. 

Whilst his body functioned, Harry’s mind had definitely stopped working. He couldn’t remember the last time his brain had had a cohesive thought. If he did manage to coax something into his brain, he was met with a bombardment of the events at Hogwarts and they continued to beat him until he lost the energy to torture himself. He would then be left sitting defeated once more on the floor of the cell, staring into the stars

Besides, what good would thinking get you? He thought he would win the battle for the lights. He thought that he would celebrate with a mug of butterbeer and discuss careers with Ron and Hermione in front of the common room fire. He thought that maybe, if he were lucky, he could marry a nice girl like Ginny, and they could build a life together. He even dreamed of growing old and watching his grandchild win their first Quidditch match from the Hogwarts stands with a lion’s scarf wrapped proudly around his neck. Those thoughts had only done him harm, for now, he sat alone in a cell with no one but the stars to keep him company.

Harry felt a tear warm his face, following a pre-determined path to his neck where it would add to the uncomfortable damp on his shirt. He briefly closed his eyes, willing sleep or anything to break up the day for him and give him a break from reality. However, his eyes remained light and lithe and unsettled, so he opened them once more and felt his body wrack in a sob. 

His whole being stilled then, as he watched a star pass in and out of the sky like the stitch of a seamstress on a quilt. He laughed, unsure of what quite motivated it, and decided, perhaps in a moment of insanity and diversion, to make a wish. It was what the muggles did, and simply because it was not wizard related, it appealed to his mind. He closed his eyes and made way for his voice to leave his body by coughing. 

“I wish..” His eyes opened. “I wish that I had a chance. Just one chance to solve everything. To save everyone. To make up for my mistakes. To finally be happy,” He took a deep breath and felt his lungs stretch and contract stronger than before. It soothed him actually, to breath so deeply, and, rather unintentionally, he found himself begin to droop. He wondered if he had been breathing properly at all up until this point as he suddenly could not keep his eyes open, even if you paid him to. The last thing he felt as he slipped into unconsciousness, was peace. 

Complete and utter peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! In the next one, we can expect to see a very confused Harry and long skirts. I hope to upload it very soon as it's just in the editing stage right now. Until then, adieu.


	2. A Changed London

Harry awoke to a splitting headache. He had thought that his situation was already pretty bad, but he supposed that he was wrong. A headache would definitely worsen it. Oh, would he empty the vaults in his bank for just one bowl of Mrs Weasley’s soup. She always put in pinches and splashes of various things that were sure to make the diner calmed and well. He pushed a hand into his head but it didn’t do him much good ,so he groaned and opened his eyes. The act caused him intense, momentary pain as his eyes were completely unadjusted to the rays of light beating down on his face. He must have checked out for quite some time for his brain to be unable to process such little light as was capable of coming through a small box window. 

As his senses began to fully awaken, he noticed a breeze dancing across his face and hiding in his clothing. He chanced opening his eyes again and felt his whole body zip into fight-or-flight mode. He wasn’t in a cell. He wasn’t even in Hogwarts. He was in London. He was propped up against a wall in bloody London. 

The toing-and-froing was a purebred London breed, no other city could compare. Yet, the people around him were dressed oddly. Men wearing suits wasn’t uncommon in London but the formality of the style was strange. The women were more cryptic. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so many young women wearing knee-length skirts in one place. He wondered if there was some kind of event going on as he raised himself and dusted the material of his trousers off with the back of his hands. Some men in sharp army uniform passed him in a brisk manner, creating their own wind as they moved. Perhaps someone was filming some sort of war-period drama in the area and had neglected to move the obviously out-of-character boy in the back. They probably pitied him, thought he was homeless or something. Well, they weren’t wrong.

Harry moved his head this way and that, unsure of quite where to go. He couldn’t exactly rock up to Diagon Alley and go in guns-a-blazing to save the wizarding war yet again. Especially when he didn’t know if there was any world to save, or whether it was all destroyed. What he wouldn’t give for his cloak at a time like this.

Harry couldn’t be indecisive for too long however, something in his DNA, he supposed, and decided, against his own logical advice, to go to Diagon Alley. He reasoned to himself that he was doing this to scope out the area, assess the situation, and formulate a plan, but if he were being truly honest with himself, he was desperately curious about how the wizarding world was coping without him. How much had fallen? Or were they fighting still, regardless of Harry’s reported demise, determined not to give up? He supposed he owed it to these hypothetical people to at least see if they needed him. If they did, Harry would be ready. Provided he could find a replacement wand of course. Harry bit his lip, reconsidering his plan, but shook his head and stalked off further up the street to an intersection before he could convince himself otherwise.

He would’ve tried to Apparate, but the wandless matter dissuaded him from making any attempts and he didn’t trust his magical power enough after having it steadily sapped from him for hours on end. Besides, it wouldn’t be very smart to Apparate into a possible war zone. So, he searched for some sort of tourists’ map or landmark to find his bearings. 

He quickly became aware of the sheer size of the set he was possibly on. The fashion had not yet subsided; men and women were both dressed datedly and all the vehicles were vintage, not a sports car in site. He was also aware of the looks he was getting. Apparently, nineties fashion was very confusing to the people of London. He would have to agree for the most part, but his shirt, jacket, jeans and trainers surely couldn’t be too offensive. Posters for the war effort were everywhere, even in places Harry was sure no camera could pick up. A pool of dread began to form somewhere in Harry’s body, but, for the life of him, he couldn’t focus on where. He was just aware of the fact that there was no way that this atmosphere could all be fake.

Harry followed the sound of a high-pitched voice hollering over the hustle and bustle of the city. In the break of the crowd, he could see a small boy with a cap smothering his scalp standing atop a wooden crate. Behind him was a tall stand of papers tied up with twine. He clutched a paper in his hands, holding it high above his head and he shouted out the headline of the day. The only words he could pick out from the crazed jumble of it all, were something about Hitler and Russia. 

Harry approached the stack of papers beside the boy, who gave him a suspicious look and a once-over. Ignoring him, Harry traced the top of the paper, trying his best to find the date. His finger landed on an unbelievable day, followed by an unbelievable month and an unbelievable year. He rubbed his finger over the date repeatedly, but it remained the same each time he looked at it.

“Hey, mister, are you going to buy a paper?” He heard over his shoulder. The boy had stopped shouting and was looking at him pointedly, and whilst he hadn’t his hand cupped out in front of him, Harry knew that the boy was certainly thinking about it. 

“Uh, no sorry, I don’t have any money on me. Sorry,” Harry said, rushing off in the opposite direction, not really paying attention to where he was going. He was trying his best not to visibly panic, but he couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening. 

Harry was in London, strange enough. Even stranger, he was in London on 31st August 1944. 

He couldn’t figure out what kind of magic he had done to himself or whether this was some sort of horrid spell he had been put under by Voldemort but he knew it couldn’t be any good. He knew now, more than ever, that he needed to get to Diagon Alley.

Harry slowed and realised that he had no clue where he was. It would do him no good to panic right now when there were still so many questions. Once he got to Diagon Alley, all would be well, at least, that’s what he had to tell himself. He stopped a woman passing him on the street and asked for directions to Charing Cross Road. Whilst it may not be in celebration, he was fairly certain that he was owed a butterbeer for his troubles at this stage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'd like to thank everyone for reading so far and for being so lovely. I swear to God, when I went to go add a chapter and I saw that people had commented and everything, I had to take a moment to cool off my heart! So, thank you for the motivation everyone! I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter and I can tell you in advance that these chapters are going to start to get longer and longer as characters start traipsing their way in and running their big fat mouths. 
> 
> Next time, Harry finds himself at a comforting place and finds an equally comforting friend. He also may or may not get a butterbeer for his troubles. He definitely deserves one.
> 
> Take care of yourselves, and remember guys; wash your hands to the tune of happy birthday twice, practice social distancing and avoid leaving the house if unnecessary, avoid touching your face, and last but not least, cough or sneeze into your elbow and if you do so into a tissue, bin it immediately. This whole COVID-19 thing will pass us by so quickly if we all adhere to these health guidelines and we will all appreciate the freedom to move around a whole lot more when it's over. Stay healthy, stay safe, and stay classy. Until next time...


	3. The Leaky Cauldron

The sight of the Leaky Cauldron made Harry want to weep. It was like having the curve of a mother’s arms to run into, with all the madness of the Muggle world outside. He took comfort in the fact that he could rely on wizards to stay the same. If he had indeed been transported to the past, you would not have been able to tell from the exterior of the pub. It was beautifully grimy in all the right places for it to be charming and comforting and the wood embellishments around the windows were as dark and gnarled as ever. 

He was slightly nervous upon approach but as soon as he rested his hand on the door and pushed, he felt a wave of calm fall over him. The interior was just as dark and warm as always. The pub was lightly occupied for that time of the day. A few solitary bodies here and there huddled around pints or dainty glasses of cherry and a talkative group, somewhere in a corner that Harry couldn’t quite see, chattered and laughed together. 

He still wasn’t too keen to approach the bar, but he felt that he couldn’t delay it any longer. He certainly didn’t have enough money for a butterbeer, despite how much he might desire one. With a deep breath, he approached the cove of a bar counter and wiggled onto a bar stool towards the end of the bar. He felt the sleeves of his jacket stick like Velcro to the counter and unpeeled them in discomfort, resting his hands on both thighs. He looked around the bar impatiently. The only other person he could see in his vicinity was at the other end of the line of seats crowding the counter. He had a hand cupped around a butterbeer mug and a couple of discarded sugar packets littering the counter around him. His cloak swallowed his body up so that only a portion of his head and hands were visible. He looked how Harry felt, nervous and stressed, but doing his best to move forward, despite having nothing to work with. Or, at least, that’s what Harry projected onto him. He was probably just thinking about what to eat for dinner that night. 

“Can I help you?” Harry froze in his staring and snapped his neck to the source of the noise. It was Tom, the bartender. He looked considerably more healthy and had a thick tonsure, but it was definitely him. Harry didn’t know why this shocked him so, that he would still be in the pub, but he had just expected someone else. Well, if this wasn’t proof that he was stuck in time, he didn’t know what was. 

“Hello?” Harry realised he had been staring and blushed down his neck. 

“Hello, um yes, I was wondering if you could let me into Diagon Alley?” Tom regarded him with beaded eyes and twisted the tea towel in his hand more malevolently into the beer jug in his other hand. 

“You have a wand?” Harry’s eyes widened.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“A wand, do you have your wand?” Harry stuttered a little searching his brain for some sort of explanation.

‘“I- I lost it,”’ was the best that he could come up with. Tom was obviously not impressed.

“You lost it?” His right eyebrow scraped the rivets of skin above it as he synched it upwards. 

“Yes,” Harry was becoming acutely aware that the stranger at the end of the bar was beginning to pay attention to the interaction.

“How does one; ‘lose a wand’?” 

“W-well I…” Harry paused searching the counter for an idea. Of course, nothing was to be found, but it gave Harry the time he needed to come up with something on his own. “My parents and I were attacked in the middle of night. It was Grindelwald’s people,” Tom had gone completely still by this point. Harry let out a ragged breath, he might as well go for it now that he was here. 

“They attacked us completely out of the blue and we hadn’t any time to react. My parents forced me to run; they wouldn’t take no for an answer. And so I left. Without my wand,” He watched his fingers chip away at his other hand. “They didn’t make it,” He raised his eyes to look at Tom once more. “But if I could just get into Diagon Alley, well… maybe I could…” He trailed off at looked in a deserted part of the pub for some emotional privacy. His story was a very thinly veiled lie after all. Especially the apprehension surrounding Diagon Alley. Now that he was there, he didn’t know if getting into Diagon Alley would be such a great idea after all. He had no money to buy anything there, and even if he did, what good would a wand do him in 1944 when he needed it in 1998? Tom had gone strangely quite but was about to speak when the faraway stranger at the other end of the bar decided to chime in.

“Pardon the intrusion, may I ask your name, boy?” Harry started at the familiar cadence and even before he looked to his right, he knew by Tom’s face who it was. Harry turned to see his own saviour’s younger face looking carefully at him. Dumbledore.

“My name is Harry… sir,” Dumbledore seemed amused, probably at what he thought was the irony to that honorific. After a silent deliberation in his head, he raised himself from his seat and moved towards Harry, butterbeer in hand. He noticed the way Harry’s eyes lingered innocently on the drink and placed it in front of him. Harry looked between the butterbeer and he in confusion. 

“You can have it if you’d like. I haven’t touched it,” He plopped himself down on the stool next to Harry’s and regarded Harry as he drank the beverage. Harry tried to skilfully hide the wince at the taste. A bit too much sugar. 

“Harry, I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t help but overhear your… predicament from the end of the bar.” Harry shook his head and sipped his drink.

“No, not at all, sir. I don’t mind,”

“Good. Because, Harry, I wouldn’t want to impose, but… well, it seems like you could do with a bit of assistance,” Harry laughed in a bitter way.

“Oh, I think I need a lot of assistance, sir,” He watched Dumbledore quirk his lips and he realised that he might have come across a tad rude. “I mean, I would love some help, sir. I... I really don’t know what to do,” 

“Well,” Dumbledore slapped the counter with the heel of his right hand, which sounded fairly subdued due to the sticky surface. “I may have just the solution for you, young man! Tell me, what age are you?”

“Seventeen, sir,”

“Right… and what has the story with your schooling been, young man?” Harry scratched the back of his head and averted his gaze briefly.

“I was home schooled, sir. I was quite a sick child, so my parents sought to keep me at home and teach me there, so that I didn’t… well, die, sir. They were very protective like that,”

“Naturally, my boy. And you are well now?”

“Yes, sir, very, thank you,” Dumbledore nodded and sucked in a breath.

“Well, no matter. Allow me to introduce myself, Harry. I am Albus Dumbledore and a Professor of Transfiguration in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” Harry grasped the professor’s hand like a lifeline and shook it firmly. He hadn’t even considered Hogwarts, but this seemed perfect. Albus Dumbledore’s acquaintance just made it better. He was an undoubtedly powerful wizard and if anyone could help Harry return home and defeat Lord Voldemort, it was he. 

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,”

“The pleasure, I can assure you is all mine, young wizard,” Dumbledore peeled his hand away and reclined slightly, appraising Harry. “How would you like to attend Hogwarts? We would be happy to have you,”

“Sir, I would be honoured. Thank you very much. But, um, I don’t have any money with me, for books and the like,”

“Oh, don’t worry about that! Hogwarts has a fund for such very students. Just show the vendors this,” He dipped a wrinkled hand into his robe and extracted a card of soft crimped white paper, bearing the mark of Hogwarts on one side and on the other, Dumbledore’s seal. Harry ran his fingers over the groves of the seal discreetly before sliding it into his pocket.

“Thank you so much, sir,”

“You’re very welcome Harry…?” Harry almost swallowed his tongue.

“Evans, sir. Harry Evans,” Dumbledore relaxed further onto the stool and held his hands contentedly in his lap.

“You’re very welcome, Harry Evans,” He then leaned closer to Harry conspiratorially. Harry bent his body forward as well, unconsciously. “Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it,” Harry couldn’t deny the joy in his being at those words. He knew that, in his situation, it wasn’t really appropriate to feel joy, but Dumbledore’s catchphrase had been one that offered him so much comfort in the past, as if he were truly part of a family, that hearing it again filled him with a hope so strong he couldn’t contain himself. In fact, he could hardly school his features to soften with the passage of time and was aware that he was beginning to look like an idiot in front of the person he admired most in this world. 

“Now, Tom,” Tom turned around from the shelves behind the bar where he had been obviously listening. “If you wouldn’t mind putting Harry up for the night, that would be much appreciated,” The man nodded whilst Dumbledore dug into his robes once more and produced a small sack. From it, he handed a few galleons into the bartenders hand. “And something for his tea tonight,” He turned to Harry, “I insist that you try the steak and kidney pie. It is the pub’s speciality,” His pulled the strings on his pouch and placed it back in his robes.

“Oh sir, you don’t have to do that-”

“Of course I do! As I said, I insist!” 

“I’ll have Room 11 made up for you then,” Tom said, passing Harry a set of keys over the counter. 

“How about we discuss which subject you would like to study, Harry?” Dumbledore proceeded to explain that during seventh year, you generally take the same subjects that you did in sixth year, but in Harry’s case, he would have to tell Dumbledore what he had done through his home-schooling. Of course, Harry had done his sixth year, so he went with what he had done then; Charms, Defence, Herbology, Potions, and Transfigurations. 

“Now, Harry,” Dumbledore said, as he stepped from his stool to stand on the floor. “I can take you into Diagon Alley. I have some business to conduct there myself, so it is no problem,” Harry hastily removed himself from his spot atop the stool and joined Dumbledore as he left the bar for the backyard. 

“If you’re sure, sir,” 

“Positive,” He tapped around on the bricks as Hagrid had done all those years before -or to come, Harry supposed- and the wall fell away to unveil the most eclectic setting of colour and fabric as people wearing hats and cloaks all busied themselves around the shops, panic buying for the new school season. Harry beamed. 

“Unfortunately, I must part with you here, Harry. My business is down that-a-way,” He said, pointing to a darker dingier part of the street that Harry could only assume lead to Knockturn Alley. Harry felt a slight chill down his spine as the darkness licked up onto the stones of the vibrant street. “Do you think that you will be able to manage on your own? Ah!” He delved into his cloak and produced a crumpled, folded sheet of paper. Opening it up and surfing it quickly with his eyes, he muttered a smoothing charm and handed it to Harry. 

“What’s this, professor?”

“That, my boy, is the book list for the seventh years this term. You may pick the books corresponding with your subjects. I’m sorry to have to leave you like this, but I really must go,” Harry felt a lump in his throat.

“No, sir, you’ve done more than enough. Thank you for this opportunity. If it weren’t for you-” Dumbledore held up a hand and shook his head.

“It is no inconvenience to me, it is a pleasure to help out such a brave, young wizard,” He smiled fondly at Harry, “Your parents would be proud of you,” Harry felt a familiar sting to his eye and nodded.

“Remember; Tomorrow morning, King’s Cross Station, platform 9¾’s, 11:00 sharp departure for the train to Hogwarts,”

“I’ll be there,”

“I hope to see you in Gryffindor, young Harry!” He said, turning away.

“Me too, professor!” Harry called out. He watched the retreating figure acknowledge him with a raised hand and felt a cold, familiar feeling scrape along his insides. “Me too…”. He was reminded of the last time he saw Dumbledore leave him at the train station, fading into nothingness and leaving him to fend for himself. Harry forced himself to turn and charge forward into the throngs of people to buy himself some second-hand books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! We're off to Hogwarts in the next chapter, and Harry finds his new status as the Boy-Who-Is-Utterly- Normal a bit unnerving. He also sees some more familiar faces, but these he'd rather not see. Until next time, stay safe out there (or in there, don't go outside).


	4. King's Cross and its Magnificant Dinosaur Fumes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo 
> 
> I'd like to take this moment to say that I am going to create some minor characters here and there throughout the fic, literally only to fill up space. There may be slight changes as well to characters with regard to their age or other traits throughout the fic.
> 
> Basically what I'm trying to say is, I'm going to do my best to be as faithful as I can to the source, but I may flirt with ideas that are not technically canonically accurate if they fit my vision better. Or they sound cool. 
> 
> K, enjoy

Harry sat on a bench in King’s Cross with his trolley full of assorted things. He hadn’t been so luxurious in his spending that he had bought an animal but he did splurge a little on a chocolate frog with the Hogwarts’ money. He really hoped that they didn’t keep a magical record of all the Hogwarts cards’ expenditures or else he’d have some explaining to do. Harry, at least, was not a big spender and could survive on very little. Most of his luggage was either second-hand or very basic. He still thought that the 1940s really ripped people off, but the seamstress lady in the second-hand robes shop was very sweet and he was happy enough to give her business. 

He had bought his own wand again: 11 inches, Holly, Phoenix feather core. He had wondered whether that was wise, but he was stuck in the past and believed he deserved all the help he could get. Besides, he loved his wand, it understood him, and after all that it had been through, he was glad to see it alive and well. He could always return it before he left for the future, it didn’t have to be an issue. He hoped.

He hadn’t seen anybody witch or wizard-like pass him since he had parked himself on the bench. In his defence, it was very hard to discern who was magical and who wasn’t in this time period. Everyone went around with old trunks and there was not a lot of personal muggle technology around so you couldn’t immediately scratch off a person on your wizard checklist when you saw them wearing headphones or running by on an important phone call. The people of the 1940s were interesting to watch. They all looked very strong and ready to roll up their sleeves, but they carried fear on their shoulders. You could see it in the way that they moved and the way that they stood with their feet apart, poised for action. The women did look beautiful, but they also looked tired and strained. The population of King's Cross station was remarkably like how Wizarding Britain had been when he left it. Strong, determined, connected, but also isolated in fear, afraid to spread it. Fear pumped from the flutes of the trains docked around him and filled their lungs with doubt and worry and grotesque imaginings of the future that would be supressed for now until they had a moment of spare time, which often never came. Harry almost felt disingenuous, sitting in a place he did not belong, in a time he did not belong to, with a people whose fears he didn't share. At least, not literally.

He had arrived early, wearing some of the only muggle clothing he could find in Diagon Alley and had decided to pass the time reading through his potions textbook. It was at times like that that he missed Snape’s detailed notes and insights into crafting potions. He was trying his best to jot anything that he could remember of them down in the margins. So far, he had amended two recipes and was onto a third when he heard a hoot. He raised his head to see a little girl leaning on her trolley with an tawny owl placed precariously on the frame in a willowy cage. The animal seemed quite opinionated and flapped aggressively at the bars. The little girl, however, didn’t pay it much heed and continued to walk to her platform.

Harry snapped closed his book and placed it back into his trunk. Tapping his breast pocket, where he had kept his wand, he pushed the trolley forward. People parted easily for him as he moved along his way. He had lost the little girl somewhere in the crowd but continued to move forward without fear. He spotted the fateful sign and pillar up ahead and pushed through the hordes of people to get to it. Without stopping, as he had a clear run of it, he barrelled through the wall. A catch in his throat formed, as it always had since second year, but he cleared the pillar with ease and slowed himself as he broke through to the other side. Clusters of wizards, young and old greeted him. Many were friends reuniting after the long summer, others were tearful parents, embarrassing their children with hugs and kisses. It made him feel pretty lonely really. He had no one to meet, no one to send him on his way. Not a single person here cared for him at all. No one here knew him at all.

He had to admit, it was weird, not being the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’. He was no longer gawked at on the wizarding streets, he was no longer given more smile than necessary when getting fitted for robes or an extra scoop of ice-cream that he really didn’t want. He was just ordinary, plain old ordinary half-blood Harry Evans whose hair had to have been magical in order to have such a sentient life of its own. There was an odd sense of freedom that went with being ordinary but also a horrible sense of judgement. Whilst he knew that there was less pressure on him to perform as the Boy-Who-Lived, he felt that even if he made a very good impression on people, they would all forget him relatively quickly, and if he made a poor impression, he knew that he would be remembered in that way forever. People were far more willing to make excuses for celebrities than they were ordinary people. Therefore, as Harry walked into the train, he took extra special care not to knock into anyone or stand on somebodies toes. He made sure to smile at those whom he made eye contact with and waited patiently in line to get a place in a compartment. 

As he waited, he began to fret about who he would sit with. He was sure that once he got into a carriage, he would be fine, but the unknown was jumping all sorts of ideas into his head. What if there was no space? What if no one wanted to sit with the weird home-schooled child? Harry wasn’t even sure if he had ever heard of wizards being home-schooled. It certainly wasn’t normal, but that didn’t mean he had to be strange, right? Perhaps, it could work in his favour. It would explain a lot of the modern behaviour that would evidently slip into his mannerisms. He was just the wacky new boy whose parents were killed in an attack that was too horrid for him to describe. No matter what, he would refuse to let himself crumble and sit with the first years. That had to be social suicide in any time period. 

“Oh don’t be such a bore, how am I meant to deal with these buffons without you there?”

“Oh, Malfoy, I’m sure you’ll manage. You do have a brain under all that blond fluff, after all,” Harry felt his body sag. He wasn’t surprised, per say. To not expect a Malfoy in Hogwarts would be like not expecting it to rain during the week in England. It might remain dry, but it probably won’t. Harry could tell by his tone that he was just as much of a prick as Draco Malfoy was. His ego burned through Harry’s back. 

Blood certainly ran thick in the Malfoy household. Probably because of all the inbreeding.

“Yeah, Malfoy, you better get used to it! Tom is Head Boy this year; he’s going to have a lot less time to spend holding your delicate, wittle hand,” The bickering that followed was lost on Harry. All he could hear were alarm bells. Tom was a fairly common name, but he had only ever heard of one Tom being a Head Boy. A Tom that would have been Head Boy around this time. A Tom that he really should have seen coming. 

It was odd; Harry’s body was screaming at him to run away, to retreat. It had never done that before when faced with the challenge of Voldemort. He had always jumped headfirst into danger, he found it exhilarating in a way that he didn’t like admitting to others, in case they thought he was some sort of psychopath, but now, his body felt like retching at the thought of so much as stepping in danger’s way. In Voldemort’s way. 

Harry reasoned to himself, clearing his head with a succinct shake, that he would keep his head forwards and his lips shut. This waiting wouldn’t last long and then he would get in a carriage with anyone but the group behind him, which would be brilliant, no matter who they were, and finally, he would be placed in Gryffindor, well away from anything related to Tom. 

“Gentlemen, please, a little decorum,” The group behind quietened, which actually made Harry smile a little. God, Voldemort sounded like a tosser. 

“Yes, I am Head Boy, but I would never neglect my duties to my friends,” Harry felt like heaving the Steak and Kidney pie he had for tea last night all over the back of the girl in front of him, but thankfully, due to his kind nature, he repressed the urge. It was so hard not to listen to their conversation; their voices were so invasive. 

“Besides, I’m here, walking with you to your carriage, aren’t I?” Voldemort sounded so bloody cocky, acting all nonchalant like that. Harry felt his teeth begin to grind.

“You’re not really here for us though, are you?” 

“Whatever makes you say that, Nott?”

“Well, you said so much as,”

“He did?”

“Yes, he did. Well, thereabouts,”

“Nott, waiting in a line with you all, it’s my personal pleasure,” _Yeah, for your own personal gain,_ thought Harry. “However, it just so happens that I do have business in the area that compliments waiting in a line perfectly,”

“Oh?” Malfoy couldn’t make an unrefined noise if he tried. Shame about the content of the sound. 

“Yes, I’m here to welcome a new seventh year student,” Harry froze. There was no way that it wasn’t him. Harry wasn’t ready for a confrontation with Voldemort this early on, especially a cordial one. He didn’t know if he could be cordial to Voldemort. How could he avoid it?

“New?”

“I didn’t know seventh years came in new,”

“Well, it seems they do. Apparently, he was home-schooled up until now,”

“I didn’t know students could be home-schooled,”

“Well, I was informed that he suffered with a terrible infirmity as a child,”

“Oh… still, it’s odd,”

“I thought so too,”

“Oh, I’d watch out if I were him. Tom looks as if he’s ready to extract his whole backstory from him,”

“Please, I would never be so crude,” Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Well, why is he no longer being home-schooled?”

“His parents died,” _Because of you_.

“They died?”

“Well, they were murdered by Grindelwald’s men, according to Dumbledore,”

“Oh,” Harry could hear the soured mood of the group in that voice. Presumably because Dumbledore’s name was mentioned. Harry wished he could get out of this line already.

“Riddle!”

“Ah, Lena! How are you?” Harry could see a girl with bushy, flaming red hair pacing toward them. She had a pinched face that looked perpetually disappointed at you. Her teeth were blindingly white and were very visible when she opened her mouth to speak.

“I’m well. How are you?”

“I’m wonderful,” Harry raised his eyes to heaven.

“How has your patrol gone?”

“The lower carriages are quickly filling up and all seem to be in good spirits. I predict that they will be too busy trying to get people to like them that there won’t be any trouble for the moment,”

“Great. Any progress on finding the new boy?” Harry closed his eyes and imagined being anywhere else but there in that moment.

“No, unfortunately not. He wasn’t in any of the lower carriages. I haven’t checked this one yet,”

“Right, would you like me to take over here then?” _Yes, please do_.

“Oh, no, that’s alright. Perhaps, you could round up the prefects while I get the new boy?”

“If you insist,” Harry watched her retreat like one might watch the last biscuit being removed from the plate. He needed to leave now or else he was a goner. He shuffled out of the line, and made a beeline for the break in the carriage where he knew an exit would be. 

The outside air, whilst not fresh, was gulped in by Harry upon exit. He could not get enough of it. He laid down his case and sat on it with his head in his hands. Everything felt hot, his face, his lungs, his heart. He didn’t know if he could go back on that train. He didn’t know if he could go to school with that monster. With those monsters. This wasn’t his world, he couldn’t just go _living_ in it. This shouldn’t be happening. Why was this happening? 

Harry’s hands dashed down his cheeks as he snapped his head upwards, out of them. The star. It was that star, wasn’t it? The only event that he was cognisant of before he woke up on the streets of 1940s London was of him wishing on a star.

It couldn’t be though, star magic wasn’t a thing. Right? It must have been Voldemort, he must have done something. No one had ever wished upon a star and had their wish come true. That just didn’t _happen_. Surely. 

Then again, Harry couldn’t be much certain of anything anymore. There had been a time when simply being a wizard seemed impossible. Harry wasn’t incredibly book savvy; there may have been a volume on star magic published before, and Harry ‘Beginner’s Luck’ Potter just had to go and perform a jailbreak by somehow producing enough powerful magic to travel back in time. 

Or it could have been Voldemort. Maybe this was some sort of torture method he was beta-ing. It was certainly working. 

Harry froze. It was working. How could he let it work? How dare Harry let Voldemort win at torturing him? How dare he just sit down and take it? He was a Gryffindor, goddammit, he had too much pride for that.

Harry jumped up from the case and grabbed it before he could change his mind. He was stronger than this and he was sure as hell not going to let Voldemort win a second time.  
His best laid plans however wavered, as the train whistle hooted its final hoot. He dashed for the doors that were edging closed. He shot out his arm and lodged it in the open air between the closing doors. They stalled open just enough for him to squeeze both his body and case in, although his case did make quite the racket, banging itself against every surface.  
Harry let out a huff of hot air and placed his hands on his knees. 

“Hello?” He turned his bent head to his left to see a lopsided Head Boy and Girl. Harry straightened his back and his jaw. This was important, he had to act well in front of Voldemort, he couldn’t let him feel superior.

“Hello,” He patted his robe down and remained still as the train lurched to a start. The Head Girl stumbled slightly, apologising as she knocked into Voldemort. He smiled and righted her balance by the shoulders. Of course, the bastard hadn’t even budged. 

“Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?” Tom said, releasing the Head Girl, who was blushing a red that clashed with her hair. 

“Someone always has to,” Harry replied, picking up his trunk and easing himself away from them. 

“Hang on,” Harry paused and turned back to Tom. “Come here, please,” The 'please' sounded vapid but Harry complied, albeit at his own pace. 

By the time that he reached Tom, he could see that the boy was masking irritation. His emotion shifted however as he properly looked at Harry’s face, as if he was trying to pin a name to it. Harry wondered if he had the balls to call him out on it, or whether he would chicken out, thinking it was a student that he had never cared to take stock of.

“Are you, per chance, the new boy?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, I suppose I am. May I ask who you are?” 

“Of course. My name is Tom. I’m the Head Boy,”

“And I’m Lena Frinkle, the Head Girl,” Harry smiled at her and she returned it. She seemed like a nice person, despite her stern exterior.

“And what’s your surname?” Harry said, flicking his eyes a beat later to Tom’s. They were an intense, broken brown.

“Pardon?” He knew that Tom knew exactly what he had said.

“Lena has told me her full name, I was just wondering what yours was,” He wondered if he was pushing it by being oddly insistent, but it was hard to resist. He knew that Riddle hated his name. The quick, uncalculated twitch of the eye was enough to illustrate this. 

“Tom Riddle,” He said, spreading his mouth into a strained smile. 

“Ah,” Harry flicked his eyes over Tom like he were appraising an artefact. He supposed, in a way, he was. This Voldemort was ancient history where he was from. 

“What’s your name?” Lena asked. 

“Harry, Harry Evans,” He held out a hand to her and then Tom, who shook it firmly with an artificial warmth. 

“I’m so terribly sorry to hear about your parents, Harry,” Tom said, still gripping Harry’s hand. His eyes were large and full of sharp pity. Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. 

“Yes. They did not deserve to die like they did,”

“But of course not,” Tom said, releasing his grip, and with it, numbed a small part of Harry’s heart.

“Of course not,” he mumbled. He didn’t miss Tom’s calculating eyes. 

“Lena, would you like to begin the meeting? I could settle Harry in and then join you,”

“Well…”

“I assure you, he is in good hands with me,” He said with a charming laugh and clap on Harry’s shoulder. Harry wished he could cast a cleaning spell on it then and there.

“Oh, I wasn’t, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“It’s quite alright, don’t worry about it. I have no problem doing this and I know that you are more than capable of speaking our vision without me being there,” Harry wanted to gag.

“Oh, alright, I-I suppose, I’ll head off then,” She turned to walk away but quickly zipped back around to face Harry. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts, Harry. If you need anything, you know who I am,” Harry smiled at her.

“Yes, I do, thank you so much,” She left the carriage and Harry felt a shift in energy in the room. There was electricity in Riddle’s eyes, a power that he wanted to use to dissect every inch of Harry. And Harry would be damn sure not to let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so they meet. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Tom tries to sink his teeth into the mystery that is Harry and Harry's wishes fall on deaf ears. 
> 
> See you then! Stay safe!
> 
> Ps. I just realised what date it is today and I'm so disappointed in myself for missing out on the opportunity to do something. Next year, gamers, next year.


	5. The Hogwarts Express May Not Be So Express

“So, Harry, tell me, what was it like to be home-schooled?” Harry sniffed and sunk back into the wall a little further. Tom had taken it upon himself to lean on the opposite wall and he had his arms crossed. Harry had hidden his arms behind his back and used his hands to support the small of his back. It was hard not to feel like a suspect in an interrogation when dealing with Tom Riddle. Harry thought, if he hadn’t gone all evil, he probably would have made a great Auror. 

“It was fine,” Tom chuckled a little when he realised that too much of a silence had lapsed for Harry to continue.

“I only ask because no one has ever heard of anyone ever being home-schooled. You can forgive me for being curious, no?” Harry clenched his teeth.

“Well, I didn’t exactly choose to be home-schooled. I was ill. School was the least of my worries,”

“Oh yes, of course,” Riddle’s eyes went soggy with emotion. “I was so sorry to hear of that. That must have been awful for you,”

“Yes, it was,”

“What was it exactly that you suffered from?” Harry had to catch himself. 

He had really deliberated over what he was going to say if anyone asked him this. He lay awake for what felt like hours the previous night, trying to come up with some sort of prequel to his life, but nothing seemed to stick. He didn’t like the idea of claiming that he had a weak heart or faulty lungs, because it would be hard to keep up appearances, and he wanted to at least have the option to dabble in Quidditch in the future if he wanted to. He deserved at least that much. So, Harry licked his bottom lip chastely whilst examining Riddle’s shoes (which were immaculate, in case you were in any doubt), and lifted his eyes. 

“All due respect,” _Which is none_ “I don’t think that my ill health is really relevant to my introduction to Hogwarts,” Tom opened his mouth and compressed it again, releasing a rush of air from his nose. 

“My apologises, I didn’t release that I had stumbled upon a sensitive topic. It won’t happen again,” Harry could feel his blood begin to boil.

“No, no. It’s not sensitive, I’m not-” Harry broke off, watching as Tom’s triumphant, witty smile reared its head. Harry swallowed down his hot hatred, disliking the unpleasant feeling of it moving back down his throat, and focused on disassociating himself with the situation. 

“So, you’re the Head Boy. The finest of what Hogwarts has to offer, hm?” Harry raised an eyebrow, tipped his head back against the wall, and crossed his arms. But Tom’s wry smile wasn’t lost to him.

“First in my year since I began. I’d say I’m fairly ‘fine’, yes,” Harry snorted.

“And modest as well,”

“I don’t understand that kind of modesty, where you play down your talents. People seem to think it’s polite but I just think its lying,” 

“And you don’t like lying, then?”

“I think lying can lead to misunderstandings and unnecessary… inconveniences,”

“For you?” Tom squinted a little at Harry.

“For everyone. I am the Head Boy you know, I’m not some sort of monster,” Harry raised both eyebrows but decided not to say anything. He couldn’t trust that the conversation wouldn’t go somewhere he didn’t want it to go on a rapidly moving train. 

“I’d love to learn about Hogwarts seen as I’ll be there in a few hours,” Tom nodded and straightened his posture.

“Why don’t you walk with me and I’ll tell you all about Hogwarts. We don’t want to get stuck here by the trolley lady,” Harry slid himself off the wall and fell into step with Tom. 

“Oh, of course, you won’t know about the trolley lady. The trolley lady is part of the Hogwarts experience. She sells a whole manner of popular wizarding snacks. I wonder, have you had many before?” Harry side-eyed him.

“I was home-schooled, not living under a rock,”

“Alright, no need to get all fired up,” He held up his hands and Harry scowled, refusing to make eye contact. 

“With a personality like yours, I’d say your straight on your way to becoming a Gryffindor,” 

“What’s a Gryffindor?” Tom stared at him a little longer than Harry would have liked.

“Not living under a rock, you say? I would have thought you would know about the houses at least. Didn’t your parents go to Hogwarts?” Perhaps playing _that_ dumb was unhelpful when pretending to be the home-schooled boy. _Acting is a bell curve_ , he chastised himself, _don't be an overachiever, you idiot!_

“Wow, you’re doing a fantastic job at instructing me about the school! I’ll be sure to leave the Headmaster a review!” Tom didn’t look scared, which definitely pissed Harry off. If anything, he looked vaguely amused. He was probably imagining throwing Harry into a magical blender or something. But then, blenders didn’t really exist in 1944, did they? 

“… Alright. A Gryffindor is what you would call somebody who is from the House of Gryffindor. The Houses of Hogwarts date back to when the castle was built and the school was founded. They get their names from those who founded the school. Prospective students were originally handpicked by the founders themselves to be a part of the respective houses, but now, they are sorted to the house of whichever founder’s ideology best suits them via a hat charmed by the founders themselves. Godric Gryffindor set up Gryffindor. Gryffindors are generally individuals who are driven by valour and courage and tend to find themselves leaping before they look,” Harry sniffed. 

“Then you have the House of Hufflepuff. Set up by Helga Hufflepuff, a welsh witch, individuals placed here are fiercely loyal people, sort of like a dog. In fact, I believe that they would prefer to refer to themselves as a collective rather than individuals. The Head Girl, as a matter of fact, is a Hufflepuff. 

“Then you have Ravenclaw. Rowena Ravenclaw formed this house under the value of learning and wisdom. Students who are creative and devoted to learning assemble there and the smartest people in the year tend to be from Ravenclaw. You can think of them as intellectual nuns,” Harry snorted, much to his chagrin. 

“And finally,” Tom stopped, shocking Harry into looking at him. “We have the best house,” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Really?” 

“Yes, really. Slytherin. A house formed by the one and only Salazar Slytherin. Did you know that he formed his very own wand out of a basilisk’s horn?” 

“No, I did not,” Harry said, very drily.

“Well, he did. Which just goes to show his superior power,” Tom grinned at Harry’s expression. “But I digress. His house is for those who are ambitious and destined for power. It is the house of purest wizarding blood and an ancient and important source of the History of Wizarding kind. All of the oldest families are a part of the house and everyone who becomes someone is a member,”

“I see,” Harry said, twining his fingers together behind his back. “And I don’t suppose that you are a member of the house?”

“My, how perceptive, Harry,” Tom reached out an arm and slid open a door to one of the train’s compartments. Confused, Harry shuffled closer and felt his eyes widen painfully. 

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Harry Evans. Harry is our new student. Harry, meet Abraxas Malfoy, Arcturus Nott, Perseus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Altair Rosier, Victor Mulciber, and Orion Black,” He turned to smile at Harry “My friends,” 

Harry couldn’t believe his luck. The one thing he expressly asked not to happen was what lay in front of him now. Tom’s ‘friends’ didn’t seem too pleased either, practically flinching at the muggle name. Malfoy was giving Tom a particularly confused look, as if Tom had left him out on a plan they were to share together. 

“Harry needs somewhere to sit during the train ride, don’t you Harry?”

“Yes,”

“So, I think here would be the best place for you. You can trust in each of these men to know anything and everything about Hogwarts. Afterall, their families have been around for centuries,” The group shared intermittent looks and awkward coughs. A hesitant smile even appeared here and there.

“I wouldn’t want to impose on a group of friends that hardly know me. They were probably hoping to enjoy their last start of term together,”

“Oh, nonsense, they have the carriages for that kind of behaviour,” Tom sent a wide-sweeping look of forced consensus.

“Of course, Harry. You are welcome here,” Malfoy said, not really meeting Harry’s eyes. How encouraging.

“Why, thank you,” Harry said, not even bothering to sound grateful.

“Now, Harry, a few housekeeping rules. When the train stops, you are to go with the first years across the lake. Ogg, the Gamekeeper, will be there to collect you and you will travel with him in a separate boat to the castle. You will be brought to a room with the first years and await your sorting there. Until then, please make yourself comfortable here. Gentlemen, do help him with his luggage,” Nott immediately got up and took Harry’s case from him, giving him brief eye contact. He slide it up on a ledge over the seats and sat back down, hands planted on his lap. Harry eyed his bag worriedly. How was he supposed to access it now, without it being awkward? He didn’t want to sit there and do nothing for the whole train ride. 

“Now, Harry, I have to go and conduct a meeting, so I will leave you here. Any questions?”

“… How long until we get to Hogwarts?”

“Oh, I’d say another 3 hours or so. Plenty of time for you to all get to know each other, eh?” Tom clapped Harry on the back but kept his smiling eyes trained on the men in the carriage. They all remained still and uptight but no one made a sound of complaint or defiance. Harry couldn’t help but feel impressed but also curious as to how a Muggle orphan had managed to command such power over highly bigoted wizards in such a short period of time. 

“Thank you,” Tom then looked at Harry, pleasantly surprised. 

“Your welcome,” He smiled brightly, so much so that his eyes were almost welded shut. But they weren’t, and they sparkled like roughly cut black diamonds watching him. It was unsettling, to say the least. 

“Mind yourself gentlemen, and buy him a chocolate frog, eh? He’s already finished the last one,” Harry looked at him quizzically and Tom held up his arm with a highly amused expression on his face. Pinched between two fingers, was a chocolate frog wrapper. Harry darted his hand into his pocket where he had put his wrapper until he could vanish it safely. What greeted him was nothing but folds of ruff material. The wrapper must have fallen out of it, but how did Tom have it? Riddle leaned forward to whisper in Harry’s left ear. 

“Perhaps not so much of a Gryffindor after all, hm?” He pulled back, but not without a victorious smile and placed it into Harry’s hand. Harry felt his eyes twitch and his nose hike up his face. There was no way… had Harry dropped the wrapper when he was fleeing the train? How could Tom have known? But then, Tom Riddle was Lord Voldemort, or would be. You don’t run a successful terrorist organisation if you aren’t the sharpest tool in the shed. Of course he would be that observant. It was sort of terrifying... and terribly embarrassing. Tom then raised his voice to address the group, all the while eyeing Harry.

“I bought him one as the trolley passed us on the way up but he’s already gone and eaten it,” Harry found enough of his voice to retort back:

“What can I say, I have a very sweet tooth,” Tom relaxed his arm to his side.

“Not too sweet, I hope,” He turned back to the purebloods, who were unsure of what to do with their hands. 

“Men, I should be suitably busy monitoring the corridors and so forth, so I shan’t see you all until we stop. Until then, take care of Harry for me, yes?”

“Of course, Riddle,” Lestrange said, trying his best to sound casual. 

“I would like to stress that I am not a wild animal or a child; I don’t need to be taken care of, thank you very much. And I definitely don’t need another chocolate frog,” He didn’t want to owe any of these snakes anything. They certainly didn’t want to have any babysitting duties, if their faces were anything to go by. 

“Well, it’s up to you, I suppose,”

“Yes, you suppose correctly,” Tom narrowed his eyes and offered a thin smile. With one last look and acknowledgement to his ‘friends’, he turned to leave. Harry tilted his head to look in at the vultures awaiting him, vultures that grew bolder now that their pack leader was gone. 

“Oh, Harry,” Harry returned his eyes to Tom, who had stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Tell me, what sort of review will you give to the headmaster?” 

“Oh, a very positive one, of course,” Tom let out a laugh and turned his back again.

“We’ll see you in Slytherin yet!” Harry scoffed, outraged.

“You take that back!” But it was already too late, all that remained of Tom Riddle in the carriage was the smell of his intoxicating cologne, which Harry was sure he had spent an inordinate amount of time perfecting. 

“Won’t you come in?” Harry heard a voice ask from inside the compartment. He had nearly forgotten that there were people in there at all. He didn’t like the way Slytherin’s could make themselves seem almost vapour-like, it was unsettling and forced you to trace your steps back, hoping that you didn’t say anything too incriminating in their presence.

“Yes, of course,” He laid a foot over the threshold and upon noticing no disturbance, stepped fully into the compartment. He slid the door closed behind him, refusing to turn his back, and looked at each individual in front of him. Everyone looked more like a pureblood now, confident and cocky, but Harry also got the feeling that this cold front was defending an assessment on their part of Harry. They wanted to see if he was worth knowing, although, so far, he wasn’t too sure if he was doing a great job.

Nobody really wanted to sit beside him, but his case had been put over a spot next to Malfoy, so he moved to sit beside him. 

“Not here. That’s where Tom will sit,” Harry slowly nodded, reasoning with him that Tom had said he would be busy the entire train ride didn’t seem worth it, and he swivelled around to sit beside the only other person he could sit beside. Orion Black. 

Younger than the other boys, but no less arrogant, Orion Black perched on his seat like a regal falcon ready to attack. Harry supposed that one could not refute the physical similarities between the father and son. Sirius did share quite a lot of his features with his father, namely their dark black hair and grey eyes. There were some notable differences though in the way they held themselves and the aura that they gave off. Sirius was fun and loud and opinionated and so liberal, even Harry used to feel conservative around him. 

Orion was none of that. He possessed a similar body with an entirely different spirit. A dark spirit that straightened his back and hardened his eyes . A spirit that slicked back his hair and shined his shoes until they seemed wetted with blood. Orion was looking at Harry in a way Sirius would never. Orion was looking at Harry as if he were mud covering up his shiny, shiny shoes. It was with great reluctance that Harry slid down beside him and made himself as comfortable as he could, rammed up against the wall.

“So, Evans,” Harry supposed Malfoy must have been the vice-president of the Death Eaters because they all had turned to listen to him speak before he had even opened his mouth. “You were home-schooled,”

“Yes, I was, Malfoy,” Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry. 

“Well?”

“Well…?” Malfoy tutted at Harry, which made him much more annoyed than if he’d been called a mudblood.

“Well, what was it like? Being home-schooled?” Harry reminded himself that they were only interested for Tom. They only asked him questions about himself for Tom, not because they cared. He sat up a little straighter and guarded his lap with his hands.

“It was… nice. I could go out for walks, hang out with the Muggles,” He wasn’t disappointed with the reaction that he got out of them “You know, regular, normal things,”

“Yes, quite…” Malfoy looked ready to tap out already, which Harry counted as a personal triumph.

“Who were your parents?” Nott chimed in, from a supremely relaxed and lounged position. 

“Nott,” Harry couldn’t see him, but he imagined that the voice had come from Rosier. It was low and incriminatory. 

“What? I’m only asking,”

“Your subtlety astounds me. He’s only just lost his parents,” 

“Well, he’s got to be a man about it, hasn’t he? No use flitting about the topic!” The whole compartment groaned.

“I sincerely apologise on Nott’s behalf for any offense cause. He’s too stupid to realise he’s even done anything wrong,” Rosier’s head had popped into Harry’s field of view and was a very good interpretation of sympathy. Harry was shocked into smiling.

“Thank you. I… I still haven’t fully comprehended what has happened to me and.. to my parents. I honestly don’t think that I’ll be able to talk about them for a while,”

“Of course. What happened to them was rather unfortunate,”

“To put it lightly,” 

Nott drummed his fingers onto his knee, with no rhythm in mind. His mouth was puckered in thought, thoughts that Harry wished he would keep to himself. 

“Well, the father has to be a muggle,” Rosier groaned.

“What?! He has to be, his surname is Evans!”

“How sharp of you,” Malfoy said, in a biting tone. 

“I was only pointing it out, Malfoy, no need to have a go,” Harry couldn’t believe how volatile this group of friends was. They always seemed to be moments away from their next fight. 

“Nott, your brazenness will be the death of you,” Harry assumed this voice must have been Mulciber’s. It had an aural twang which snagged the attention of your ear and left its hook deep in your drums, beating once or twice more before fading into your memory. 

“My mother says that I have the brain of a philosopher,”

“There’s your problem then,”

“Victor!”

“What? Your mother is a basket-case,”

“No she is not! She got four Outstandings in her N.E.W.T.S! And, anyway, you should watch what you say, you’re related to her!”

“Well, you are more closely related to her. Besides, we all are technically related to her somewhere along the ancestral line. You can’t go around saying that we’re all crazy,”

“Can to,”

“Nott, are you an infant?”

“What does that make you then, somebody hanging about with a child? I bet the Daily Prophet would have a field day!” Harry had to stab his palms with his blunt nails. This was more entertainment than he had had in the last year. 

“Gentlemen!” Harry blinked at Malfoy, slightly disorientated. He couldn’t help but compare him to Tom. Whilst Malfoy had the attention of the group in his hands, it felt clumsier, less inviting than Tom’s command. It was like a cold slap across the face that may shock you initially but, ultimately, left you irritated. 

Malfoy had soured any further attempts at interaction and everyone seemed to go about following their own little tasks; some read for leisure, others had transfiguration or potions books laid upon their knees, some looked out the window, and some lent back into their seats for some shut eye. 

Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. He couldn’t look out the window, he was too far away, he couldn’t study because to study would mean standing up and going over to his trunk to get a book and he did not want to draw any attention of any kind to himself, and reading for pleasure was not in Harry’s vocabulary. Harry was trying to acquaint himself with the possibility of sleeping but he was surrounded by Slytherins that he didn’t trust one bit, and he’d be damned if he give them any opportunity to kill him before he got back to 1998. So, eery silence it would be. Harry bit his lip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, it's been a while, very sorry. Honestly, I forgot it had been so long since I last uploaded. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Next time, Harry is finally going to return to Hogwarts and will be beginning his new life as a Hogwarts student for the second time round. But what house will he be placed into? And when will he hand back Dumbledore's Hogwarts credit card to him? Seriously, Harry, I hope you're not planning on hoarding that. 
> 
> Stay safe everyone!


	6. Ogg like Boats, HOO

Harry was exceedingly glad to be off the Hogwart’s Express. The last leg of the trip had been pure agony and the onslaught of sounds that greeted him once he left the cabin sent his head ringing. The boys that he had the pleasure of sharing the journey with stuck mostly to themselves after Malfoy silenced them all, talking every so often, more so once the trolley came along. One of them, Perseus Lestrange, seemed conflicted as he was choosing his purchases. Harry had caught him staring and was terrified that he had done something unconsciously. Whatever it was that Lestrange was contemplating, Harry never found out and the trolley left, suitably depleted. 

Harry slipped away as seamlessly as he could. He hadn’t even made any excuses, he just melted into the bevies of people milling out of the train. The group of boys didn’t seem to care too much, from what Harry could tell from the backs of their heads. If anything, they seemed more preoccupied with finding Tom Riddle.

Harry was surprised at the amount of students around him at Hogsmeade station. He had sort of assumed that Hogwarts’ population grew as the years went on, but it was a lot more consistent than he had given it credit for. If he allowed himself to relax, he could perhaps forget that he was stuck in a different time, and was simply returning for his last year of school like a normal student. But he couldn’t relax, he had a gamekeeper to find. 

Harry didn’t know what to expect a gamekeeper called Ogg to look like. There was every chance that he looked like a Neanderthal and carried around a club if his name was anything to go by, but Harry wasn’t one for judgement. Ogg could very well be a highly intelligent man that had a love for botany and escorting children across a lake once a year, every year. And there was every chance for that not to make him a creep. 

He did not expect for Ogg however to look so, well, Dickensian. The man was quite obviously getting on in years and had a pure white five o’clock shadow that extended half ways down his neck. His hair, pepper-and-salt, fought for its position on his head, standing to a wiry attention. It was a fierce battle, as only the artillery around the back and the sides of the head remained. He dressed himself in a clay coloured jacket with a rather fancy, albeit marked, white dress shirt underneath, complete with a red satin ribbon tied in a rather languid bow. 

His legs sprouting from his short torso were clad in a dark brown fabric that ended bluntly on the lower third of his leg, and his feet rested in what looked to be military calibre boots. Around his waist band laid a wand belt and a pouch. 

Harry spotted him over a sea of first years and made an aborted hand movement to get his attention. A bulldozer of a young boy barrelled past him, almost knocking him to the ground. In fact, bodies were beginning to crowd him on all sides. He scrunched his eyes and rolled his shoulders back. He had never noticed the crowds being this bad before. 

Harry cut through the crowd, managing the evade most attacks, and approached Ogg, tightly gripping his luggage. 

“Um, excuse me sir, my name is Harry Potter. I’m the new seventh year student. I was told to come to you,” The elderly man squinted at Harry, moving all his features as he did so, and then settled. 

“Ah yes, the home schooled boy. Welcome to Hogwarts,” He reached out a hand and looked to Harry’s case. Harry handed it over and smoothed his hands on the sides of his cloak, as Ogg vanished away his case, casting befuddled glances at him all the while. The first years were all staring at him, confused as to why a much older boy was in amongst them. He could hear their whisperings as clear as day, but pretended to ignore them. He was used to people whispering anyway. 

Ogg shuffled beside him and made a growling sort of sound at the back of his throat. It took Harry a moment to realise that he was clearing it. 

“Alright first years, welcome to Hogwarts. I trust that your train ride was a pleasant journey and that you have been meeting new friends,” Harry swallowed. 

“If you’ll all follow me,” He held his wand skyward and a red the colour of the ribbon circling his neck shot out from its black tip. “I’ll show you to the boats where we’ll travel to the castle and get you all sorted into your houses!”

The man seemed nice, Harry supposed. He remembered Mrs. Weasley did say he was a kind soul. He was certainly less chaotic than Hagrid, and probably less terrifying of a behemoth to those weak-hearted children destined for Hufflepuff. He liked to look at Harry though, and Harry didn’t quite know why. At first, he thought his eyes bespoke of a silent, ‘walk with me’, but the man hadn’t said anything since they started walking on the declining path to the dock full of eager boats. He kept glancing at Harry though, never long enough for Harry to actually catch him doing it, but at a rate that Harry felt very self-conscious. Just when Harry thought Ogg had decided on whatever he was thinking about Harry, he could feel eyes on him again. 

Harry looked furtively over his shoulder. The first years behind him quietened, and he could see all the young students moving, tightly packed, down the path amongst the trees like a stream of lanterns in the night sky. It was sort of beautiful to watch, but also disconcerting as a growing number of students were beginning to stare at him. He didn’t look them in the eyes, little Medusa’s that they were, but turned his head to meet Oggs’ dark blue. They were soft, but curious, and now Harry had cause to ask him what he was staring at. Harry went to open his mouth, but Ogg beat him to it.

“Would you like to join me in my boat? I can’t imagine you’d want to sit with any of the first years. Lovely as they are,” Harry’s eyes widened. He flicked his them back over his shoulder and then looked at Ogg again. 

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Ogg nodded. 

“It’s no trouble at all, a little company will do me good anyway,” Harry smiled weakly. He supposed it was not as bad socially to sit with a teacher than it was to be surrounded by first years. And Ogg seemed nice; not much a conversationalist maybe, but neither was Harry really. As long as he didn’t stare at Harry anymore, Harry felt that it would be a rather pleasant trip to the castle. 

Harry was upon the dock before he noticed he was. The view of the castle, doubled on the surface of the Great Lake, was spectacular. Crystals of light flickered along the walls and the spires on the towers poked the sky, as if the castle was ready to fight anyone threatening the safety of its inhabitants. The castle practically glowed, you could tell that it was its favourite time of the year. 

It still seemed so far away to Harry. The first of the carriages entered his field of vision and the moonlight danced off the skeletal figures of the Thestrals, their wings like silken shawls warming their weary bones. He couldn’t quite comprehend that he was about to be there, the stone of Hogwarts warm under his feet. He was going to go to Hogwarts without any of his friends. It felt wrong, like Harry was committing some sort of unforgivable crime. But he also couldn’t deny the drive he felt to get into one of the boats in front of him. 

It wasn’t too late. He could still turn back now; send Dumbledore an owl, apologising and promising to pay him back for all of the supplies. He could get a job somewhere on Diagon Alley, serving ice cream maybe. He could study magic and train up by himself, even travel; he’d always thought that he’d like to travel someday. He could learn to be powerful without going to Hogwarts, surely. Then he wouldn’t feel so guilty. 

“Harry?” Ogg appeared at Harry’s side. He smiled softly at him and looked at what was transfixing Harry; the castle. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Everyone feels like that when they see it first,” He sniffed, hands rested on his hips. After a moment he looked back at Harry, who was still staring with a pained expression. Ogg’s lips parted and then pressed together like an accordion, but less musical. 

“Most people save the ogling for when they’re on the boat, though,” Harry swallowed and looked at Ogg. Ogg smiled quickly and twisted his head to nod at the only free boat. In the others sat first years who were beginning to notice that Harry was idling. 

“Shall we go?” Harry allowed his eyes to roam around at the scene in front of him and found that his feet began to move towards the edge of the dock. He chewed his lip as he watched Ogg climb like a nibble spider into the boat. The castle; he would blame this on the beauty of the castle. 

Surprisingly, it took so much focus not to topple the boat that Harry didn’t feel half as bad as he thought he would, sitting in the vesicle. Ogg muttered something, Harry couldn’t decipher exactly what, but the boat started to move. In quick succession, the other boats began to take off, all following the motherboat that Ogg and Harry headed. 

Harry supposed that he should feel honoured. Normally, one only got to approach Hogwarts on the Great Lake once. He was doing it twice. 

It was just as majestic the second time as it was the first. The castle was so still on the surface of the lake and elongated to seem vicious. The water was so smooth that it was difficult to fight the temptation to extend a hand and see if the water was really as soft as it looked. Carriages, albeit miniature from a distance, flanked you on your right, filled with students. They travelled in an eery procession across the bridge to the castle. It reminded you just how small you really were in this world. 

Sitting on the hard wooden bench of the boat, Harry came to a stark realisation. The journey to the castle was the same in 1944 as it was in 1991; it was just as spectacular. This place that he thought was going to be the makings of him was the makings of everyone else as well. In some naïve way, he had truly believed that Hogwarts liked him, as daft as it sounds. He thought that he was special to it. But, Hogwarts didn’t choose people. It was just beautiful to everyone. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” Harry looked over at Ogg, who was bemused. Harry knitted his eyebrows together and then grinned whilst bowing his head. His eyes caught onto Hogwarts again. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “It really is pretty,” 

“It sure is,” Ogg said, looking at the castle himself. “Bet you wish you had come here earlier,” Harry looked at Ogg. He wasn’t sure if he should look offended, under the circumstances of why he was supposed to be there in the first place, but he shrugged anyway. 

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Ogg was looking at Harry again. He looked as if he wanted to ask Harry something. Why couldn’t he just say it? It was making Harry anxious, wondering what on earth he was harbouring in his head that was so important he couldn’t stop gawking at Harry. 

“Harry,”

“Yes?”

“What did you say your surname was again?” Harry stilled. That was an odd question to ask. 

“Evans,” Ogg’s head tilted upwards slowly and then began yo-yoing up and down. He bent in on himself, digging his hands into his pockets. Harry was royally confused. 

“Why?” Ogg locked onto Harry’s face.

“Hum?”

“Why did you ask me that?” 

“Oh,” Ogg’s eyes left Harry’s and instead followed the carriages that were all on the bridge by now. “It’s just… well, I thought you said your name was Potter earlier,” He attempted a look at Harry again, whose face was betraying nothing. 

Inside, Harry was frantically trying to sort through his memory. There was no way he could have made such a stupid mistake. To make such a mistake would mean that he had no brain cells, and Harry was sure that he had a few knocking about up there. Well, Ogg wouldn’t have just made this up out of his own head for fun. That would have been too much of a coincidence. So Harry must have-

Harry felt his face tumble. He had been so preoccupied trying to get to Ogg, his mind hadn’t been on the ball, and he’d let the ball drop. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything,” Ogg was smiling at Harry, one full of pity. “Who would I tell anyway?” Harry didn’t quite know what to say, so he kept his mouth shut and continued to stare at Ogg.

“It happens more that you’d think, and it’s not your fault, Harry. You shouldn’t be ashamed,” Harry straightened his back, vertebrae by vertebrae, with a tight expression on his face. 

“Sorry?”

“Well that you’re… you know...” Harry followed Ogg’s nervous fidgeting with his eyes.

“I’m?” Ogg leaned forward slightly, drawing Harry in with him. 

“… Illegitimate,” Harry coughed. That had certainly taken him by surprise. He met Ogg’s eyes. He looked so certain that Harry didn’t think it appropriate to counter him. The first rule of improvisation, after all, is never to say no.

“But, having said that…” Ogg’s voice faded, as did his will to finish the sentence.

“Yes?” Ogg looked apologetic before he had even said anything. 

“You might want to work on… hiding it a bit better,” Harry narrowed his eyes.

“You just said that I shouldn’t be ashamed,” 

“And you shouldn’t. It’s just… there are some old families here, traditional families. They can be a bit, well… they have their methods for showing that they don’t accept you. My advice to you would be to hold your cards close to your chest. Pretend if you have to. Just, don’t let them get the upper hand. Because once they do have it, it can be very hard for you to get it back,” 

“Yeah, I know what kind of people are here,” Ogg nodded. He really was a nice man.

“Thank you,”

“No problem at all, my lad. Just take care of yourself, right?” Harry smiled and looked away. 

Harry had been trying to take care of himself ever since he had gotten there. He hadn’t forgotten that his position was delicate, he didn’t require a reminder. What else could Harry do but mind himself, why wouldn’t he? If Harry didn’t mind himself, all this time travel magic, star magic, torture whatever it was, it would all be for naught. This opportunity would have been wasted. 

Surely someone like Hermione would be better at doing all this. She would have been smart enough to come up with a good back story. She would remember all that she was supposed to remember. She wouldn’t have forgotten that Tom Riddle existed. She would have sat in a compartment far away from anyone nasty. She would have a plan, or some sort of idea as to how to proceed from here. She also wouldn’t have blown her cover, or at least jeopardised it, before even setting foot on Hogwarts. 

But then, Hermione always did like plans a bit too much. She wasn’t adaptable like Harry could be. She had a tendency to get very uptight too, and her stress levels would probably be through the roof right now. Hermione, brave as she was, didn’t have Harry’s resilience. Harry knew what it was like to be nothing just as much as he knew what it was to be something. He knew how to sacrifice because it had been forced upon him to do so from day one. One could say, his whole existence was based on it. 

Harry clenched his teeth. He could lie. He could keep secrets. He had done it all the time in the past. What had Harry been if not mischievous from time to time? He was able to do it then for a greater good, surely he could do it now for the greatest. 

He mightn’t be perfect, but he was a Saviour after all. If he couldn’t save the future, who could?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was writing this chapter, I kept fretting over what happened to the luggage when you went to Hogwarts. Was there a luggage boat? Was there a wizard bell boy that moved the luggage to the castle?
> 
> I tried to look it up on Google, but all I got was people trying to sell me Harry Potter themed bags (In fairness, it is an oddly specific request to make, so I understand why nobody has done a comprehensive study on the fate of Hogwarts luggage). 
> 
> But then, I remembered that these guys are wizards, so I just made Ogg spell it away to the Chamber of Reception. Canon can not.
> 
> In other more relevant news, I have decided to upload every week on a Monday, or at least my version of a Monday (it may vary for you if you're not on GMT). This will hopefully work and I won't have to upload an apology some time in the future because I procrastinated too much. Oh God, I hope I haven't just jinxed myself now. 
> 
> Regardless, thank you for reading. I always felt like I was a person who didn't have dreams, and it sort of freaked me out, but the other day I realised that to be a writer actually is my dream. So, I hope to keep improving by writing more and exploring my creativity more and more. 
> 
> Next chapter, Harry will finally be at Hogwarts, actually, literally, positively on Hogwarts soil. I promise. 
> 
> I'm so excited for where the story is going to go from here. Even I don't fully know where it will turn, the characters wear the trousers in this relationship! 
> 
> Anyway, this note is too long for its own good so I gonna say goodbye now. Go off and enjoy your life now, but stay safe doing it! (And socially distant) (k bye)


	7. Chamber of Reception Round 2

Ogg and Harry’s boat berthed first into the harbour underneath the castle. The first years were louder now than they had been when they were on the lake. They had that sparkle in their eyes that one can only catch in a magical atmosphere. 

Harry felt himself smile. It was nice to see people at the start of their magical journey. They were so earnestly excited, unafraid of the precariousness of their future, simply eager to move forward and learn how to turn their shoes into plant pots. At least, Hermione certainly had been. Ron was just happy to start catching up to his brothers. Harry sighed.

Ogg led the new students up a stairway leading to the castle gates where a professor unknown to Harry was standing. 

He had dark hair that curled around his ears and down into the collar of his cloak. He wore a short, slumped hat on his head and a tube of pink fabric trimmed it's brim. His eyes were wide and dark and framed by glasses not dissimilar to Harry’s own. He was fairly handsome and soft looking, and his smile was the sort that warmed your toes. 

“Welcome all!” His eyes rested on Harry. He gave him a nod, which Harry hesitantly reciprocated, and extended his arms, ushering in a hush amongst the children. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts! What a strapping crop of new students that we have this year! I can tell that you’re all going to be wonderful magicians, the lot of you!” His voice was a lilting brogue. A sound of approval echoed amongst the crowd. 

“I am Professor Brendan O’Leary, Head of Herbology and of Hufflepuff. It’s exciting to wonder who amongst you will be placed in my House!” Harry whispered a laugh. He sure was a Hufflepuff, alright. Professor O’Leary began introducing the Houses and what they meant, but there was only so many times you could listen to somebody talk about Houses before you went insane, so Harry tuned out and watched a fly bedevil Ogg as it tried to land on his reflective crown. 

He wondered why Riddle had bothered to tell him about the Houses at all if he was only going to find out about them now anyway. Seemed like a bit of a waste of time, if you asked him, to talk about Houses if a Professor was going to tell you all about them anyway before you got sorted. 

It was probably a scheme of some sort. Riddle was probably trying to infuriate him. It would have been more useful for him to talk about professors or subjects that he was going to take. Maybe even a note on how you have to be quick if you want to get a treacle tart during the Great Feast because, although the plates refill, they are quickly made scarce again. 

It was sort of like Riddle, he supposed; to give you information but withhold anything of use. Anything of use would cost you. Harry couldn’t say that Riddle hadn’t made an effort with him, but he couldn’t say that he learned much from him either. What a sneaky bastard. 

Although, he would give it to him, he gave a far more comprehensive lesson of the houses than Professor O’ Leary, who liked to explain things in a single sentence.

“Now, if you’ll all follow me, I’m going to bring you to the Chamber of Reception where we will awaiting your Sorting Ceremony!” The band on his hat glowed a soft pink, similar to those magical bugs that liked to fly around enchanted plants at night, and he spun on his heel. Harry went to go follow him, but halted when he saw Ogg.

Ogg was looking at him with kind eyes. He patted a hand against Harry’s cloaked arm. 

“If you need anything,” Ogg said, extending a finger to what would be Hagrid’s cottage “I live just there. Sometimes a spot of tea helps to calm the nerves, you know?” 

Harry’s face softened; he hadn’t realised that it could soften further, but it did. Unwillingly, he felt a prickle behind his eyes. He almost felt sorry for having to lie to Ogg. 

“Thanks, Ogg. I really appreciate that,”

“Anytime, Harry Evans, anytime,” With one final pat and an intelligent nod, Ogg left his side and began walking for his cottage. A hole bore its way into Harry's chest. It felt wrong to see an old man walk away from the festivities, but Harry didn’t have much choice but to turn his head and pass through the gates. 

He had a sorting to attend

Professor O’ Leary led the students to the Chamber of Reception via the Entrance Hall. It was a room of cool sandstone and was equipped with a zig zagging staircase that would lead into the castle and to the Great Hall. Harry sighed. 

“Alright everyone, please wait here for a bit. I’ll be back in a moment to bring you to the Sorting Ceremony,” The first years were excited; an accidental spray of confetti came from his right. Harry rubbed at his eyelids.

He wondered where Dumbledore was. He had to give him back that card at some point. He had half expected him to be the one to lead the first years to their sorting, but perhaps a card that gave you virtually unlimited goods was not enough reason to appear. Harry wasn’t as special as he was before, after all.

“Who are you?” Harry’s neck led him to the body of a little boy with a shock of blonde hair. It was slicked back in a drenched look and he looked as if he were about to attend a business merger. His eyes burned into Harry’s and his face was arranged to be calculatedly haughty. 

Despite himself, Harry quirked a smile. He was reminded of a certain Slytherin he once knew. History did have a way of repeating itself; just this time, he supposed, he was experiencing it in reverse.

“Me?” The boy’s chin grew outwards.

“Does it look as if I’m talking to anyone else?” Harry raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to contemplate the little terrier.

“I suppose not,” Harry stuck out a hand “My name is Harry Evans, what about you?” The boy’s eyelids crowded his lashes as his face contorted into juvenile disgust. 

“Evans? That’s a Muggle name,”

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” The boy didn’t like Harry saying that.

“Shut up, Mudblood. What are you doing here? You’re not a first year,” Harry’s face grew lax and he slowly retracted his hand.

“Believe me, I wish I was,” So much for nostalgia.

“Answer me, Mudblood!” 

“Well, you went to the trouble of asking for my name, you might as well use it,” The boy’s eyebrows perked upwards. “Besides, Mudblood isn’t a very original nickname,” 

The boy was seething, but his outburst was squashed by Professor O’ Leary who parted the wooden doors to the rest of the castle like one would part the Red Sea; with a bit of flair.

“Everyone, your audience awaits!” Harry gave a sickly sweet smile to the boy that he still didn’t know the name of, and strode forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do it! I had to add a fellow Irish person into the story! Professor O'Leary, welcome aboard! 
> 
> This chapter is a little short but its all about building up the tension baby. 
> 
> Anyway next week's chapter is double this length so don't worry. 
> 
> Next time, the Sorting Ceremony begins and Harry gets a little old hat placed upon his head.


	8. The Sorting Cermony ft. MC Sorting Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to pop in to say that if you're looking to support the Black Lives Matter movement and aren't sure what you can actively do to help it keep its momentum, there are some great petitions on Change.org (such as 'Justice for George Floyd') that you can sign. And, if you have the means, you can donate to promoting the petition for other supporters to see and sign, or share it on social media. 
> 
> Let's all work together to see justice prevail!

Professor O’Leary led the troops along the stone corridors that seemed ancient even in 1944. Harry’s head journeyed around the walls of the corridor and felt the familiar warmth in the bottom of his stomach that happened when he walked around the castle. The warmth that comes from being in a place that you call home.

The sound of the Great Hall, a cacophony of voices from witches and wizards, was booming from a distance that was rapidly reducing with each step. Harry found that each breath he took was filled with electricity that agitated his heart and made him feel more breathless than if he hadn't taken a breath in the first place. He made an effort to slow his breathing. He couldn’t go passing out before he’d even got to the Hall. 

The doors of the Great Hall were visible to him now. There was a part of Harry’s throat that entirely rejected any moisture, no matter how much he tried to lubricate it. Professor O’Leary had a pep in his step as he walked along that resulted in the bobbing of his head over the line of children’s heads in front of Harry. It was enough to bring a smile to his face and was a welcome distraction. 

Harry’s brain was completely silent as he approached the doors. He could see the Hall in full now and was dismayed to find his breath had left him. 

It was as lively as his first year. Students were conversing with each other, even mingling between houses, catching up on what had happened over the summer. The atmosphere was steady, not tense as he had come to know it. It was what he always dreamed Hogwarts could return to, after his side had won the war. 

The students, of course, followed fashion trends that he was unaccustomed to. All the girls, from what he could see of them, wore longer skirts than he was used to. Their hair, in particular, mystified him. It was hard to find a female head that wasn’t curled in the room. And, even when you did find one, it was tied up in an elaborate bun or involved curls at the front. He wondered how many millions of pins and ribbons were in the Great Hall alone. 

The boys as well seemed quite different. There was no one as lazy as he in the hall. If their hair wasn’t swooped, it was slicked close to the scalp. 

Even, the uniform was different. He hadn’t really thought about it until he saw such a congregation of students in a place he was so familiar with. Blazers and dresses just didn’t seem right to him. It was too stiff for his liking.

His eyes caught onto the Slytherin table. The students seemed to be more cordial than the Slytherin’s he was used to. You’d believe that they were just normal teenagers; unaffected by politics and political agendas, if you didn’t know any better. Slytherin’s always had a goal and an agenda; it was the very reason that they sat at that table for. 

Inevitably, he saw Riddle and his gang. They sat towards the back of the table, about ¾’s of the way down from the front. Harry had expected them to be at the very back, the domain for all troublemakers, but they seemed happy to be in amongst the people. He also noted that Orion wasn’t there. He did look younger than the rest of the group on the train, he probably sat further up the table. 

Riddle had his eyes on all incoming students, as per his nature. Harry tried to prepare himself for eye contact, but Riddle’s eyes didn’t linger. They passed over him like a cloud. Harry tore his eyes away to look in front of him. He set his jaw, anger mounting. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was so angry. Perhaps it was the reminder of Riddle’s two-facedness. 

Regardless, he had to dig his nails into his palms. He couldn’t wait to get in Gryffindor and never see the bastard ever again. 

Professor Dumbledore was seated at the staff table, watching the hall measuredly, as any good supervisor would. He saw Harry in the procession of students and nodded at him with a warm smile on his face. Harry’s chest puffed up and he returned the smile. 

The line stopped moving forward and Professor O’Leary leapt up onto the staff’s platform, taking his seat next to Dumbledore and a rather gruff looking woman. The man in the centre of the table, seated in the Headmaster’s chair, rose slowly, as if it pained him to move. His white beard, groomed closely to his face had a straight quality to it and had highlights of blond. He had no hat on his head, so his long, curled tresses were visible; similar in colour to the hair on his beard. 

Whatever beard oil he was using was a good purchase. If Harry ever grew a beard, he hoped it would be as immaculate as his. 

He rounded the table and approached the podium at the edge of the platform to give the Start-Of-Term Feast speech. 

“Welcome, one and all, to Hogwarts, this, the academic year of 1944-45. I am the Headmaster of this Great school, Armando Dippet. For some of you, this year is an important year. This is the year that you start school for the first time,” Second time, technically, for Harry. “And for others, this is the year that you will be departing us,” He paused and squinted along the line of new students. His eyes met Harry’s.

“And for one of you, both of those things will be happening in the same year,” He gave a little chuckle and Harry sent a quick smile his way, aware of the number of eyes piercing him on all sides. 

“But we shall endeavour, as staff, to make this year as important as possible for all students, so that we can all finish this year with smiles on our faces,” Headmaster Dippet paused for a moment. He cast his head backwards to look at the staff table. Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought Dumbledore dipped his chin slightly. 

“In terms of school news,” He cleared his throat and carried his eyes meaningfully across the room to all the tables. “You all may or may not be aware of the current situation of the war, but regardless, security this year will be important. I ask all the troublemakers out there to take the year off. There is enough trouble out there to have any in here,”

The hall was silent.

“Having said all that,” Headmaster Dippet took a deep breath and joined his hands together to rest on the podium. “You are safe within the walls of Hogwarts. Our defences are impenetrable. We shall not be attacked here. You need not worry. We plan to conduct the year as any other. Unfortunately for some, there is no chance of exams being cancelled,”

More than some groans could be heard in the hall.

“We must remain vigilant, all the same. All of us,” He leaned forwards over the podium, and it felt more intimate somehow. “And we must support each other. This war has already effected some of us deeply,” Harry swallowed heavily. “We must support those who may lose things, and those who have already lost so much,”

Headmaster Dippet didn’t look at him again, but many others did. He tried to remain suitably stoic. 

“Now,” Dippet slapped a hand against the pulpit, which made Harry jump. “I believe that the time is upon us to begin the Sorting Ceremony, don’t you all?”

The hall became rowdier, as people began betting on who would end up in which house, although, for the most part, they were betting on Harry. Harry knew it too, as his cheeks began to redden. 

A man who seemed very timid toed his way over to the stool that Harry remembered sitting on in a few decades to come. He was presumably middle aged and he had a brilliant honey colour to his hair, like a toffee made by Honeydukes. 

On the stool, sat a crumpled and well-loved hat. The man stood next to the hat and it began to move. Whilst, it didn’t have shoulders, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that it was rolling them. 

“Oh it’s song time!” A over-excited Gryffindor girl to his right whispered, rather loudly. Another girl beside her with a ribbon running through her hair smacked her in the arm. 

Harry raised his eyes to the ceiling. The stars looked particularly beautiful today. Hopefully the song would be short, and he could just get the sorting over with. He couldn’t wait to see if the Gryffindors were any different to the future. After all, he hadn’t even been able to talk to any yet.

He found his eyes had strayed over to the Slytherin table. They wouldn’t look at them, but he knew where they wanted to look. He was angry at himself. There was something inside him that he could feel eating away at his stomach. 

He realised, with a shock that it had been there for a while; it had started out nibbling so minutely, that he hadn't paid it much attention. It must have started when Tom had left him on the train. That made sense, it felt a bit like a snake alright.

It was doubt. Undeniably. 

Giving it a name seemed to delight the beast, as now, it began to ravage what was left of Harry’s stomach. 

Why did Riddle have to mention seeing him in Slytherin? Harry had hardly even thought about Slytherin beforehand; he just assumed that he had been in Gryffindor long enough to be one through and through by now. But if that was the case, why did his stomach hurt so much?

Just because he was hiding his identity, it didn’t mean that he was cunning or ambitious, did it? What he was doing, it was more Gryffindor, wasn’t it? He was going to save everyone. That was brave, right? Not cunning or scheming? Yes, it was bravery, it was very brave. He was a saviour even in a different time period, that’s brave. Besides, he could not be in the same house as that… thing. It would go against every he stood for, surely?

He knew that not all Slytherins were like Riddle or Draco Malfoy or… well, there were some good ones. He remembered that one had asked him for an autograph once, that’s got to mean something! But being in the same dorm as Voldemort was too much for even him to handle. Maybe he wasn’t as brave as he thought. 

Harry shook his head and sent a gush of air out of his nostrils. That’s when the hat began to sing.

**‘I am the humble Sorting Hat  
Who sorts just one a year  
New Students into our fair houses  
I’ll tell you whilst I’m here**

**For those who are plucky  
Gryffindor awaits  
To make your fortunes lucky**

**For those who honour kindness  
Hufflepuff can help  
To allow you find true happiness**

**For those who seek knowledge  
Ravenclaw is there  
To see you young hatchlings fledge**

**For those who have a plan  
Slytherin is the house  
Where they can come to hand**

**Hogwarts, oh, Hogwarts,  
You keep us all safe,  
Hogwarts, oh, Hogwarts,  
You make our hearts chafe,**

**Here we are equals,  
We are all marked this way,  
But we all have a unique power,  
We can use to save the day,**

**Some may know it,  
Others may not,  
At Hogwarts we will learn,  
What sets us apart!’**

An obnoxious cheer erupted in the Great Hall. The tune was rousing, almost like an anthem, and many students’ nationalistic pride was on full display, especially on the Gryffindor table.  
The Sorting Hat looked very pleased with itself, as pleased as a magical hat could look anyway. It’s crease that seemed to operate as a mouth was entirely upturned and very visible even from a distance. 

“Everyone,” The Deputy Headmaster tried to suppress the noise of the hall with his hands. It worked, but took a few cycles to be effective. 

“We shall now begin the Sorting,” His amplified voice seemed to rumble around in Harry’s stomach. He tried to reassure himself that it only did so because he was hungry.

The Deputy began calling out names alphabetically and the Sorting Hat was finally put on the first student’s head. The little girl was placed fairly immediately into Hufflepuff and the Head of the House, Professor O’Leary, seemed exceedingly proud of that. 

Harry was, of course, going by ‘Evans’ now, so he was very high up in the line. It was both a blessing and a curse. 

“Evans, Harry,” Harry swallowed and took a deep breath. His foot raised itself and landed on the first step. Then the other landed on the second and so-on-so-forth until he was in front of the stool. His eyes caught onto Dumbledore. Dumbledore’s face was so crinkly and warm, that Harry calmed. He even smiled at the man. 

Harry sat upon the stool, staring straight ahead. And then the hat was lowered. 

_**My, my, my, what a head you’ve got. Why, I’ve never seen such a one in all my life!** _

Harry swallowed.

_**Or have I? Oh, I have… How peculiar…** _

Harry bit his lip, unsure of what to say. Perhaps he should have tried Occulumency before doing this. It probably wouldn’t have worked on the Sorting Hat though, and especially not with Harry’s mediocre skills.

_**Well, you shall be a difficult one then.** _

_You put me in Gryffindor before. I was good in Gryffindor._

_**That you were, you were quite good there. You are a very brave child. Very selfless. A true gallant hero.** _

_Thank you. That’s all because of Gryffindor, it is a good fit for me._

_**Well, it does fit you, all right…** _

_… Is there a problem?_

_**Gryffindor… suits you well. However, I cannot ignore this other potential I see here.**_

_Please don’t be talking about Slytherin._

_**Slytherin would suit you well. I saw it before and I see it now. Perhaps more so now than ever.** _

_What are you talking about?! You called me gallant only moments ago!_

_**I did.** _

_Well, then, h-how can you say that I’m suited to Slytherin? Slytherin doesn’t go for gallant people!_

_**He did. Slytherin simply went for those whom he saw potential in to be something great, or rather, those who saw it within themselves to be great. Those individuals that were incredibly driven with a specific goal in mind. And you, boy, you are incredibly goal-oriented. Why, it seems as if you have only ever lived with a goal in mind.** _

_How could I not?! You can see what my life has been like so far! It’s not like I could suddenly decide not to follow my destiny!_

_**Destiny is favoured by Slytherin. Slytherin likes destiny. Destiny is ambition.** _

_So you’re saying that my alternative is just to let people die? You can’t penalise me for wanting to save others!_

_**Penalise? Why would belonging to Slytherin be a penalty?** _

_Because those that belong there are evil!_

_**Evil? Evil is not a trait that Salazar looked upon favourably.** _

_Well, he had a vendetta against Muggleborns._

_**It is true that perhaps he did not look upon them favourably, but the advocation of blood purity is not a requirement for Slytherin. Have you not heard of the wizard Merlin? He believed in Muggle Rights very strongly** _

_Well then, what about self-preservation? Slytherin’s save their own necks at the end of the day. I literally sacrificed myself to safe others. Is that not the Gryffindor thing to do?_

_**It is, that’s why I’m having difficulty sorting you…** _

_If you’re having difficulty sorting me, just put me in Gryffindor. Please, I’m used to Gryffindor by now, I get along well with Gryffindors. I’m connected to the house and it’s a part of my identity now. Surely it would be too cruel to place me somewhere else? Besides, you never make mistakes, right? Putting me in Gryffindor is the right thing to do._

_**Hmm…** _

Harry waited with bated breath. He cracked open an eye; whispers flew across tables and the hall was fitful. He was Hat Stalling. 

_So? Gryffindor?_

_**Hmm… you are used to Gryffindor. And you are selfless and brave. You have flourished whilst there.** _

_Exactly… So?_

_**But you argue like a-** _

**“SLYTHERIN!”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be completely honest with you, I completely forgot that yesterday was Monday. Hehehehe... I'm sorry. 
> 
> The annoying thing is that I've been sitting on this chapter and all, eager to publish it, because this the start of Harry finally being a Hogwarts student again (like 14,000 words in).
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to explain why I hadn't uploaded. This won't happen again, I hope. I'll set a reminder for next Monday so I don't forget what day of the week it is. 
> 
> On another wild note, I'd like to announce my new career as the Sorting Hat's lyricist. 
> 
> I thought it would be a fantastic idea to write a song for it to sing until I started writing it. 
> 
> If you were an eagle-eyed eagle, you might have noticed that some of the lyrics sounded a bit familiar. The latter part of the song was inspired by Sybill Trelawney's iconic prophesy: 'and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not'. So, shout out to her.
> 
> In the next chapter, Harry doesn't like sitting at the Slytherin table. And he despises slugs. 
> 
> Have a great day everybody, and keep safe.
> 
> Ps. the Sorting Hat's speech is in bold and when the conversation between it and Harry is going on, the Sorting Hat is the one thinking in bold italics and Harry is the one thinking in italics. Just in case it wasn't clear. K, bye.


	9. Slugs have a way of slythering

Harry couldn’t taste the food in front of him that he was eating. Beef, Yorkshire pudding, mash, root vegetables, and gravy; a meal that would ordinarily be indulged by Harry, was completely tasteless and took him an age to grind down. It was all because it was on the Slytherin table. 

Harry was too ashamed to look anywhere or at anyone. After the hat gave in to its selfish desires, Harry vacated the stool and was revisited by his senses when he was seated at the top of the Slytherin table, where all the new Slytherin’s went. He hadn’t even the energy to judge himself for committing social suicide. 

One could argue that the hat was the one who committed it for him. There was no way that he was talking to any of the Slytherins. 

Harry was in a very delicate position. He wasn’t quite sure if anyone would actually believe that he had travelled through time (anyone with an IQ above room temperature anyway), but he could be admitted to St. Mungo’s for insanity and prohibited from using magic for the foreseeable future if he were caught acting too suspiciously. Thus, he had to be very careful with whom he talked to and what he talked to them about. He had to be five, ten steps ahead of the conversation so that he could direct it away from any compromising topics. That was going to take up a lot of energy. And he didn’t think it would be possible if he were talking with Slytherins. 

Besides, he knew how influential Tom Riddle was. He was the Heir of Slytherin for Christ’s Sake; he’d even killed a girl to prove it. No one in Slytherin was out of bounds for him. If he wanted to, he could get someone to spy on Harry. Everything he said to them could be reported right back to Riddle. There was no way he could get close to anything Slytherin because Slytherin in 1944 was most certainly Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Harry was starting to feel sick. He was tempted to push away his plate and leave the hall right then and there, but he didn’t know the password to the Slytherin common room. And he also shouldn’t know where the common room was in the first place, so he’d just have to wait until the feast was over. 

He groaned at the thought of Riddle potentially bringing the new students to the common room himself. 

This was all such a horrible mess.

Damn the Sorting Hat!

“Harry Evans!” Harry jumped a couple of inches off his chair as a hand clapped onto his back. He spun his head to his right to see Professor Slughorn looking as plump as ever and strawberry blond. The man seemed just as shocked as Harry, but he laughed it off.

“No need to fret, dear boy! I’m Professor Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin House,” Harry relaxed a little more onto his seat after Slughorn removed his hand from his back. 

“Ah, my apologises, professor; I didn’t notice you coming from behind me. So quietly,” The professor smiled so that his eyes disappeared into twinkles on his face.

“Not at all Harry, it happens to the best of us,” Harry's smile struggled to stretch across his cheeks. 

“Yes, sir, thank you for your reassurance,” 

Professor Slughorn chuckled. He looked down his nose at the space that had been pointedly left beside Harry. He assessed the plot and lowered himself down into it. Harry looked around them. People seemed to be whispering to one another about the Professor's arrival. 

“Harry,” Harry tore his eyes away to look at Slughorn, who was wobbling for comfort on the bench. “As your Head of House, I’d like to formally welcome you to Slytherin,”

Harry dabbed at the corners of his mouth, reproducing a clean serviette after he performed the action. 

“Thank you, professor, that’s very kind of you,” Slughorn smiled and clapped a hand on Harry’s arm. His face grew grimmer. 

“I’d also like to sympathise with you for your tragic loss,” Harry swallowed whilst nodding. He nodded for a few beats, finishing it off with a sniff. He looked at his plate of practically untouched food. 

“Thank you, sir,” Slughorn rubbed his arm enough to chafe the material of his uniform against his skin. Harry hoped a sincere smile would stop the man. It did.

“How are you finding Hogwarts so far?” Harry raised his eyebrows and nodded his head.

“Yes, it’s entirely beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a place nicer. I really like the ceiling as well,” He said, lamely pointing to above their heads. Slughorn raised his head to see the ceiling for himself, as if he hadn't already seen it in all the years he had been teaching there. 

“It is indeed,” He returned to looking at Harry. 

“And, have you made any friends so far?” Harry opened his mouth a moment before replying.

“Ah, well… these things take time, sir,” The professor's slug-like eyebrows almost entirely closed the gap to his receding hairline.

“Oh… it was my understanding that the Headmaster had asked the Head Boy and Girl to take care of you?” Harry inhaled. 

“Yes, um. I met the both of them. Tom Riddle and Lena Frinkle?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Slughorn smiled and nodded at him as if he were waffling an answer to a question about a potion he hadn’t heard of before.

“Well, Tom Riddle did, um, introduce me to the Hogwarts houses when we were on the train and, um, his friends as well,” Slughorn’s face lit up like the candles dangling in the air above their heads and he slapped Harry on the arm again, hard enough this time for Harry to wince. He didn’t seem to notice. 

“Fantastic, my boy! Why that’s wonderful!” 

“It is?” Harry subtly rubbed his arm. 

“Yes! Tom Riddle and his friends are fantastic chaps, the best Slytherin has to offer!” Harry cleared his throat and latched on to his glass of water resting on the table. “They are such refined chaps, very acceptable company. They are patriotic to the house and they show great care in their studies. Did you know that Tom Riddle is the top of his year?” 

“Yes,” Harry said, rolling his eyes halfway and taking another swig of water. “He told me,”

“They all have very bright futures, those chaps. They know how the world works and they work with it!” Harry rolled his lips into his mouth and set down his glass. He nodded his head.

“Yes, I,” Harry paused, unsure of what would fit in the sentence next. Being a Slytherin was hard. “I was given that impression as well,” 

Slughorn looked at him conspiratorially, as if Harry had just confessed to him a big juicy secret that he was incredibly pleased to hear. Harry widened his eyes. Slughorn shook his head.

“I knew it,” Harry tilted his head to the side. “You’ve fallen for their charms as well,”

“Sir?” Harry said, bobbing his head closer to Slughorn, in case he was mishearing him. 

“They are quite the enigmatic group, I understand completely,” Harry parted his lips. He didn’t know what else he could do but jerk his head into a nod. He paused again.

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t quite think-“

“Harry, I’ve had a stellar idea!” Slughorn said, snapping his fingers. He bounced up from his seat, wobbling the bench slightly and requiring Harry to grip onto the table. 

“Sir?”

“Come with me, Harry!” Harry raised slowly from his seat with squinted eyes. Slughorn was looking at him fondly. 

“You know, I see a lot of potential in you Harry Evans,” 

“Thank you, sir?” Slughorn began capering further down the table. In the direction of Riddle and his cronies. 

“Ah, sir,” Harry said, freezing on the spot. Slughorn looked back over his shoulder and rolled his eyes playfully at him. He circumnavigated around Harry and cupped his massive digits around the boy's lithe shoulders. He proceeded to then walk Harry to the spot where Riddle resided. Harry spluttered out refined requests to be released but Slughorn paid them no mind, stopping Harry only when they were opposite Tom. Harry clamped his mouth shut, a sound escaping from his throat. 

“Alright,” He said, mostly to himself, as Slughorn knocked out a drum solo on the muscles of his shoulders. Riddle was looking at the two of them now. Seemingly pleasant in expression, but curious nonetheless. Harry could bet that he was masking irritation as well. 

Harry sure was.

“Tom, how are you after the summer?” Tom smiled a smile that would release butterflies from the heart of even the most celibate nun. 

“Well, Professor, very well. How was your summer?”

“Just fantastic Tom. I have pictures from my trip to France that I’m just dying to show you,”

“I look forward to seeing them,” At this point, all of Tom’s group was looking at both Harry and Slughorn. 

Harry felt so lame. He refused to look at any of them, looking instead at a spot on the wall that wasn’t even all that interesting but was better than looking down because he knew that Tom was trying to catch his eyes. He left out a shaky exhale.

“I was just talking to Harry here about his experience with Hogwarts so far and he had nothing but glowing praise for all of you,” Harry turned his head slightly to the passage way over his shoulder, where Slughorn had positioned his head just behind Harry's body. He had to restrain himself from screaming any expletives. 

“Oh he did, did he?” Harry could hear the teasing in Tom’s voice. He closed his eyes and rode out the waves of embarrassed rage rushing over him. 

“Of course, how couldn’t he after you all took care of him so well?” Harry raised his eyebrows and turned his head back to the table in front of him. He accidentally caught Riddle’s eyes. He looked rather smug, index fingers extended seductively on his knife and fork in his respective hands. He smirked at Harry. Harry masked a sneer with a brief smirk of his own. 

“And so, I thought that who better to take care of him during the feast then all of you,” Slughorn patted Harry’s shoulders. Harry’s eyes widened. 

"Ah, professor, there really is no need-"

“Nonsense, Harry! No need to be so shy! They’ll be happy to have you sit with them, won’t you gentlemen?” A pause, wherein the members of the table looked pointedly at Tom. 

“But of course, Professor. It’d be our pleasure,” Tom peeled his index finger from his knife and pointed to Nott.

“Nott, move over, would you?” 

“But I-“ Riddle froze his finger where he wanted Nott to move to and allowed his brown eyes to become all consuming and silencing. There was not the slightest tremor in his hand, as one might expect to see in a normal person with a functioning nervous system, and if it weren’t for the calm rise and fall of his chest, one could have mistaken that he had been frozen in time. 

If you weren’t sitting where Nott was, or knowledgeable of how seedy Tom actually was, Harry thought that you probably wouldn’t be able to detect how terrifying Tom was being right now. At least, that’s what he was led to believe because Slughorn was awfully oblivious to any ill-willed behaviour on Tom’s part.

After a moment, Nott slid his plate and cutlery over with a grumble. Tom lips extended in a satisfied manner on his face, but his eyes could cut like knives. Harry fluffed out his bottom lip, he had to admit, he was sort of impressed with Nott’s strength of composure. He had to give him credit for not crumbling to pieces. Then again, there was probably a more sinister reason for his composure such as he was so used to Tom's abuse that it didn't register the same levels of fear within him, or the more plausible, if not, more terrifying suggestion that he was plenty wicked himself and that Riddle had to go above the call of duty to _really_ shake him. 

“Now Harry, there you are,” Professor Slughorn said, guiding Harry rather hurriedly to his seat on the bench so that he had no time to retreat.

“Ah-ah, sir, please I really am fine eating on my own, I don’t want to bother them all why they’re having their-”

“Bother us? Hardly Harry, what would ever possess you to believe that?” Tom said with tight eyes and a ghostly smile. Harry looked at him silently. Tom’s smile grew carnivorous. 

“See Harry, you must’ve made quite the impression on them yourself,” Slughorn slugged him on the back. Harry remained bent forward in his post-slugged position for a moment and closed his eyes painfully. Why, Merlin, why? 

He flashed his eyes open again. Ugh, now he couldn’t even say Merlin without thinking about Slytherin. 

“Yes, it seems Harry must have some star power,” Harry began choking on the air in his lungs. A glass of water was pushed in front of him. He accepted it without checking who it was from. Pearls of tears tumbled from the corners of his eyes. 

“Oh gosh, Harry, are you alright?” Harry rattled his throat clear and laid a few fingers from his left hand on his throat. He nodded his head rapidly, his hair gushing around his head as he did so. 

“Yes, ugh, fine. Infirmity?” He managed to get out before having to clear his throat again. He looked to the right where the water had come from. Seated beside him was Lestrange, looking expressionless. Harry flicked his eyes down to Lestrange’s place setting. No water.

“Thank you, for the drink,” Harry said gruffly. His mouth did a little smile that he did not authorise in his brain. He turned away, cursing his wilful body.

“Poor boy,” Slughorn said. Harry only realised now that the professor had been rubbing his upper back. He blushed and lowered his head.

“Take care of him, boys,” 

“Of course, professor,” Harry managed to raise his head to watch Slughorn jaunty away. He swallowed. 

“Accio meal,” Harry twisted back to the table and saw his relatively full plate, that had been further down the table, in front of him. He raised his eyes to see Riddle watching him. Riddle smiled broadly and then let it fall. He was assessing Harry’s reaction to his display of wandless magic. Harry set his mouth.

“Accio cutlery,” A water glass locked into place at the top right-hand corner of his plate and his knife and fork clicked into place at its sides. He looked up at Riddle, unable to keep amusement out of his eyes. 

Riddle’s face was very hard to read. His eyes flicked over to his left for a flash of a moment. Then, he smiled. 

"Water isn't cutlery,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! It's Monday! Here I am! Fate, destiny, and Slughorn seem to be adamant to push Harry and the boyos together. Hang in there Harry!
> 
> Next time, Harry gets a visit from Dumbledore and a little 2012 meme, affectionately termed 'Forever Alone'. 
> 
> Also, could it be, another new boy! Why yes, a boy that I forgot existed will be entering the playing field as well next time! So get excited! 
> 
> Until Monday, goodbye!!


	10. 'You're a Slytherin, Harry' Dumbledore said Calmly

“So Harry, how was your boat ride?” Harry’s lips parted. His eyes flicked down to Riddle’s inactive dinner plate. He picked up his own knife and fork.

“It was beautiful. The castle was very pretty,”

“You must have seen the carriages as well. Shame that you won’t be able to ride in one, they’re quite lovely,” Harry nodded whilst chewing on a piece on beef measuredly and avoiding Tom Riddle's eyes. Riddle was still carrying out an assessment on him; he hadn’t ceased staring at him.

“They’re pulled by these magical beasts called Thestrals, you know,” Riddle said, finally reusing his cutlery to saw at a piece of meat on his plate, which, evidently, was beef.

“Ah, so that’s what those skeleton things were,” Harry said, rather innocently. He noticed Riddle pause and looked at him before he could stop himself. 

Riddle’s mouth was open slightly, perhaps to help in the effort of cooling his brain, which could be seen whirring away behind his eyes. 

“You can see them?” It was Nott whom had spoken. Harry was silent for a moment.

“Yes,” Harry said, meeting his eyes before turning back to his plateful of food which magically hadn’t cooled yet. 

"You’re right, I really do have to stop coddling her. I thought she’d stop calling me over for every little problem by now; she only called me over to cut her meat-” A boy who had to have been a seventh year as well had slung onto the bench beside Riddle and, apparently only now reading Riddle’s face, directed his eyes to the object of Riddle’s contemplation. 

“Oh? Who’s this?” Riddle went to open his mouth further, but Harry beat him to it.

“Harry, Harry Evans,” The boy’s eyebrows raised and he glanced at Riddle. 

“Ah,” One side of the boy’s mouth synched upwards to attempt a smile and he hesitantly extended a hand after a final look at Riddle who wasn’t willing to be helpful. 

“I’m Malum Avery, nice to meet you Harry,” Harry set down his knife and reciprocated the handshake.

“You as well,” Avery smiled a little smile and then flicked his eyes over to Riddle again. 

He was a classically handsome person, Avery. Harry wasn’t sure that he was as handsome as Riddle, but he had his own charms that jumbled together to create quite the captivating picture: 

His hair was dirty blond and combed backwards in a wave, so that it looked like sand on a beach. His head was wider than Riddle’s and squarer, but they shared a similar sharp jawline. His eyes were a bright blue, the kind of blue that would be the cardinal bead on a necklace. His mouth was cheeky and wry. His build, quite fit and lean. It wouldn’t have surprised Harry if he were on the Quiddich team.

“Harry sat with us on the train, he’s the new seventh year. Avery sat with his sister on the train; she's a first year, this year. That’s why you wouldn’t have seen him,” Nott said, directing the latter part of the sentence to Harry in a quieter tone. Both Harry and Avery made noises of understanding. 

Riddle looked at Nott coldly. Harry heard Nott sniff beside him and the clinking of cutlery on his plate again. 

“You must have seen it then?” Riddle said. He was looking at Harry, but Harry got the impression that he wasn’t really talking to him. His eyes were clear and present, but his voice sounded philosophical. Harry wasn’t quite sure what the appropriate response would be. 

He was about to speak up when Harry felt someone approaching him from behind. Watching the way Riddle’s expression changed, he thought that he might’ve had an idea of who it was. 

“Harry, my boy,” Harry perked up. He turned around. Professor Dumbledore stood behind him, glowing in the candlelight.

“Professor! It’s so great to see you!” Harry said, standing up out of his place. Dumbledore deepened his smile into his cheeks and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry thought that it was supposed to be an affectionate gesture but Dumbledore’s grip was firm, and was persuading him to leave the table. 

“May I talk to you about something, sir? Now that you’re here?” Dumbledore’s eyes flooded with more sparkles. 

“Of course, my boy,” Harry looked back to the table. Everyone at it was looking at him with distinct suspicion in their eyes. Riddle looked particularly angry. 

“Excuse me, I’ll be back in a moment,” 

Harry hastily left the table and jogged over to Dumbledore, who had paced further up the Slytherin table. 

“Professor!”

“Harry, I do apologise for the grip. I wanted to talk to you but I’m afraid that Mr. Riddle and his friends don’t always appreciate my company. I thought that it might be better if it seemed as if you wanted to talk to me than I talk to you. I don’t want you to face an interrogation when you go back,” He laughed, as if to sweeten the bitter words he spoke. Harry smiled himself, hoping that it would make his speech sweeter as well.

“I’m sure that I’ll face an interrogation regardless,” Dumbledore’s face softened in pity. Harry swallowed.

“Um, so, yes, ah, you must want to talk to me about the Hogwart’s card right? I actually put it in my luggage for safe keeping. I’m sorry I don’t have it with m-”

“Ah, my dear boy, it is good of you to remember but I actually didn’t come to talk to you about that,” Harry pouted slightly.

“You didn’t?” 

“No, Harry, I didn’t. I wanted to ask you about how you were doing,” Harry smiled sadly. 

“I’m… alright,” Dumbledore didn’t say anything but he encouraged him with a smile to keep talking. So he decided he would. 

“If I’m honest, sir, I’m a little nervous about whether I can do this,” 

“This?” Dumbledore asked, with a pleasant raise of the eyebrows.

“Hogwarts. I’m a bit nervous as to whether being here is going to be okay. And if I’m honest, I’m really disappointed that I’m in Slytherin,” Harry felt his breath catch slightly. Morgana, what the hell was wrong with him? Dumbledore’s eyes grew wide with concern.

“Why is that, Harry?” 

“Because I wanted to be in Gryffindor,”

“Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything that day!”

“No, no, it’s not that!” Harry said, holding up his hands. “-Necessarily,” he sighed. 

“What is it then, Harry?” Dumbledore said.

“I wanted to be in Gryffindor because Gryffindors are my kind of people. I like them; I get on well with those kinds of people. We believe in the same kinds of things. Slytherin-” His voice caught again. He shook it off. “Slytherins just aren’t my kind of people,” 

“Why not?” Harry stitched his eyebrows together.

“Why not? Well… from my impression of them… it’s like they’re always out to get one another,”

“Gryffindors can do that,” Harry pursed his lips in frustration. Dumbledore had a point; Harry had seen many a Gryffindor try to out bravado the other. 

“And I don’t agree with things that they believe in,”

“You believe in all the things that Gryffindors believe in? Oh, Harry, Gryffindors can have a warped mindset, and I say this as a former Gryffindor. Their ego’s can grow to be offensively large, which can lead them to blind themselves by arrogance, believing that whatever their doing is the right thing and anyone who doesn’t feel that way is the enemy. Life tends not to be that black and white,”

Harry sighed. Harry knew that too, the man in front of him for Morgana’s sake fell into that trap in his youth. He knew that Gryffindors weren’t all good. Such a thing would be impossible; Peter Pettigrew was proof of that. He also knew not all Slytherins were terrible, but there were enough that were terrible in 1944 for Harry to not want to have anything to do with the house. 

But he could hardly say that to Dumbledore, could he? That the real reason he didn’t want to be in Slytherin was because his arch-nemesis, the literal Heir of Slytherin, the man who was going to conquer Wizarding Britain and then probably the world, was seated just a few tables down from where they were standing. Oh, and the foundations of his fascist-like followers as well. 

Harry may not have believed in all the things that other Gryffindors believed in, but he sure agreed with them more than he did any of those people. 

“Give them a chance, yes?” Harry screwed up his mouth and then nodded his head. “Very good,” 

Dumbledore’s smile waned. 

“Although, if I may,” he looked over Harry’s shoulder and Harry noticed his eyes register something. Dumbledore smiled at whatever it was, and then turned back to Harry.

“I would suggest looking for a different group of friends,” Harry widened his eyes.

“Oh, no, no. No, sir, I’m-” Harry momentarily lost the ability to speak. “They are not my friends. I don’t want to be friends with them at all. Professor Slughorn brought me over to them because he heard that I sat with them on the train but I only sat with them because Riddle made me-” Harry stopped. 

Dumbledore was smiling at him, thoroughly enjoying his meltdown. Harry huffed, unable to stop a little smile himself. 

“They are certainly not my kind of people,” Dumbledore nodded. 

“I only say it because-”

“It’s alright, sir, you don’t have to say it. I understand completely,” Dumbledore’s smile grew very kind. 

“You know being a Slytherin really doesn’t change you at all as a person. You’re still the same person who came through those doors earlier this evening. You’re still the same person who is bravely moving forward after such loss in your short life. You are Harry Evans, no house can change that,” 

Harry wasn’t much of a crier, but in that moment, it felt as if it was an uncontrollable itch that he needed to scratch. To bawl, until his eyes grew tired. But Harry needed to stay composed, so he nodded a bit more than he needed to, and pierced his palms with his nails. 

“Thank you, sir. I think that I needed to hear that,” 

Dumbledore left him amicably to return to his seat on the teacher’s table. Harry didn’t turn around immediately. He wanted to feed on whatever good feelings were left in his heart before he had to deal with dessert. 

“What did he want?” Malfoy said to Harry once he returned. Harry scoffed; the teen hadn’t spoken to him all night, and his first words to him were an abrupt interrogation.

“I was the one who asked to talk to him, remember?” Harry settled his napkin onto his lap and took his time straightening it out too; he knew that they were all looking at him for more information. 

“Well?” Nott spoke up, the rashest of the bunch. 

“’Well’ what?” Harry asked, pouting more than was necessary. Nott’s teeth crunched together. 

“What did you talk about?” 

“Nott,” Harry’s attention was torn away to Riddle, whose voice was laced with enough venom to kill a man. 

He had his chin balanced perfectly on the backs of his hands. and his hair shone from the candles overhead so that he looked like an angel with a halo resting on his head. Harry wondered if it was a deliberate manipulation of light or whether he was just that lucky.

“He’s allowed to have a private conversation with a professor, isn’t he?” His voice was as silky as his locks, but the way that his eyes were locked on Harry felt rather jarring. 

They were the kind of eyes that stood between life and death. As if, in your next breath, they could decide to descend upon your jugular and rip out your throat, or leave you be until the next time they needed a feed. 

He was experimenting with Harry. He wanted to monitor how Harry would react. He probably didn’t understand Harry fully yet, which was fair as Harry didn’t even understand himself half of the time (the reason why he sat at Slytherin, for example, eluded him). 

The problem was that Harry didn’t know how to react. He knew how he wanted to react, but he wasn’t sure if telling Nott to jump into the Great Lake was a great idea. 

He also knew what Riddle wanted to hear; an explanation of some sort, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to give him what he wanted, or whether he should refuse him instead. 

Harry felt like he should be defying him, but he worried that defiance would result in Riddle hiding his cards from Harry indefinitely. Not that he was waving them about in Harry’s face or anything as it stood, but Harry had the awful, creeping feeling that he would be left completely in the dark, without a Lumos in sight, if he completely rejected Riddle. 

He could also be tortured by his goonies, taking offense at Harry’s disobedience to their dear leader. Although, maybe they would think that he wasn’t defying Riddle in the first place, as Riddle himself said it was alright for Harry to keep his private conversation with Dumbledore just that; private.

But then, if he told them what he was talking about with Dumbledore, wasn’t that the ultimate disobedience, by that logic? 

Harry was thinking way too much.

“I was only talking to him because he helped me get into Hogwarts,” Harry focused on eating, so that he wouldn’t notice whether he had made the wrong decision or not.

“He did?” Avery said, tilting his head to the side. Harry nodded, simultaneously munching on some al dente broccoli. 

“Yes. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here right now,” 

“Oh, really? How did he find you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Avery said, leaning forward into his direction. He seemed friendly, which worried Harry. 

Harry paused for a breath and looked down at his plate to decide what to eat next.

“Oh, it was nothing fancy, really,” Harry shrugged, dissecting fat from the remaining meat on his plate. “I went to Diagon Alley in a bit of a mess and he helped me out. Gave me a Hogwart’s card,”

“He gave you a Hogwart’s card?” Tom Riddle said. Harry hazarded a glance. The teen had stopped eating entirely, not even pretending for appearance’s sake. 

“Yes, he did. I had no money, still don’t. Thank Merlin, for the Hogwart’s fund, right?” The occupants of the table peeled back and away from Harry. Good, his poverty disgusted them, maybe they’d leave him alone now. 

“Oh, treacle tarts!” He exclaimed, plunging his hands onto the plate for purchase before anyone else could grab one. 

“You must have quite the sweet tooth,” Riddle said smugly. Harry paused and was caught in his eyes again. He slowly fell into a smile. 

“Life is too short to not grab the good things while you can,” He supplied, before sticking out a hand to grab one more tart. Riddle’s eyes narrowed. 

“It is? I hadn’t noticed,” He extended a hand himself and took a tart. Harry wasn’t even sure if he liked them, which made him feel even angrier. 

“Definitely a Slytherin,” Riddle mumbled too loudly for it to be just for himself, and took an elegantly-placed bite of treacle tart.

Harry held back his upper lip from raising in a sneer. He realised a dark desire within himself to curse at him in Parseltongue, just so that he could knock him off his pedestal. Whilst his reaction would be comical, Harry reverted back to the wisdom in his head telling him not to be a hot-headed idiot. 

“Harry, would you please pass me the treacle tart plate,” Lestrange spoke from Harry’s elbow. 

Lestrange’s defining feature had to be his hair. It was a long and light blond, which he hadn’t expected from a predecessor of Rodolphus Lestrange. He tied it up with what looked to be a silver band into a thin and graceful low ponytail, which creeped down into the space between his shoulder blades. 

It was also incredibly soft looking. There was a sort of feathery texture to it, perhaps due to the softness of blonde colour. It looked warm in contrast to Malfoy’s, which looked as if it could freeze you to ice at it’s touch. 

Harry blinked himself back to his senses and picked up the plate. 

“Thank you, Harry,” A man of few words. Harry could respect that. Especially since those words were so polite. 

“You’re welcome…” Harry set the plate back down into its original place slowly.

“Perseus. You can call me Perseus,” Harry looked to Lestrange. He smiled. Perseus smiled ever so slightly in return. 

Harry coughed and turned away.

He couldn’t afford to forget who these people were. The Lestrange’s ended up being one of the most loyal families to Voldemort, searching for him even after the First Wizarding War was over. He didn’t know how closely knit Perseus and Tom were yet, but it wouldn’t do him any good to lose his head at this crucial stage. 

He flicked his eyes over to Riddle who was listening somewhat passively to Avery as he prattled on about something; probably some hot gossip that his sister and he had picked up on the train, judging by the hushed tone of his voice and the focus of his eyes, which occasionally wandered to the younger end of the table. 

Everyone around him, in fact, was in a conversation with somebody. To his left, Nott, Malfoy, and Rosier were having a debate of some kind, or rather Nott made most of the noise whilst Malfoy and Rosier interjected with arguments of why he was wrong. To his right, Lestrange, Dolohov, and Mulciber had a friendly, albeit muted, conversation. 

Harry was the only one with himself alone for company. He was surrounded by a sea of people and yet he felt completely and utterly alone. It was even worse than when he had been sitting by himself further down the table, because at least then his brain didn’t have anything to compare himself with. 

He watched as Riddle effortlessly concluded his chat with Avery in a single line that left the recipient satisfied enough to smile and stop talking about whatever it was he was divulging so passionately moments ago. Riddle then shifted his attention to his right and slipped into the debate that Nott, Malfoy, and Rosier were having without any awkwardness or disruption. 

Harry was impressed. He lead a rebellion for a reason, Harry supposed, as he nibbled away on his second treacle tart. People don’t throw away their pride to call someone ‘My Lord’ for nothing, especially pureblooded Slytherins. 

Harry had only ever seen Voldemort being a menace once he had all the followers he required. He had always imagined him a autarch. It was interesting to see him act like a normal person now, having a normal conversation. And he was very, very good at being a normal person too, the best Harry had ever seen anyway. 

He must have hand-selected his behaviour to an art. He must have watched other people for countless hours and mimicked how they lit up their eyes when they were talking, to make people engaged, or how they held their mouth when they were listening to people talk about things they were passionate about, or how they laughed so that it sounded like an orchestrated waterfall of musical notes. 

Disgusting. 

Harry spent the remainder of dessert grumbling into his third and final treacle tart, refusing to look anyone in the eye and wishing that the ground would open up and swallow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry. He's discovering the pain of hating everyone around you but wanting a friend none-the-less. 
> 
> We feel for you, my dear. 
> 
> Anyway, in the next chapter, Harry gets some new roommates and has a test before school even starts (what a nightmare). 
> 
> Until next time, good bye!


	11. Password, Please

The hall began contracting in size as older students finished up their desserts and began leaving the hall either for bed, or a very quiet afterparty. Harry had finished his third treacle tart and was wondering whether he should take a new one or not. The plates would probably stop refilling soon, so perhaps it would be wise. But he had had three. He was probably being unnecessarily greedy. 

“Tom?” Nott spoke up. Riddle politely turned to him from a group conversation with Avery, Lestrange, Mulciber, and Dolohov that he had joined whilst Harry was halfway through his third treacle tart. 

“Are you going to come up with us or are you leading the first years to the common room?” Riddle parted his lips and flicked his eyes up to the staff table and then to Harry, who felt embarrassed to be caught looking at him. 

“I have to lead the new students up,”

“Alright, we’re going to head up then,” Nott said, pushing up from the table and not caring about the noise that he was making. With him, Rosier and Malfoy rose. A beat later, Mulciber reluctantly hoisted himself from his perch as well. 

“You might as well bring Harry up with you too,” Riddle said, reaching for one of the last treacle tarts. 

“Harry?” Rosier queried, with a taught expression on his face.

“Yes, Harry,” Riddle said, gesturing to Harry, as if the problem was that they had forgotten the lad’s name.

“Why should we bring him up?” 

“Well, I’d hope for one, that you’d bring him up with you because I asked you to, Nott,” Riddle said, slicing Nott with his own name and stabbing him for good measure with a stare of deep brown eyes. 

He went back to severing his tart with his knife and fork so soon afterwards, that you could have sworn his prior animosity was a mere trick of the mind. 

“But there is a more practical reason,” He looked at Harry now. “He is your new roommate,” 

“Wha-” Riddle cut Malfoy off with a look. That was the first time Harry had heard Malfoy make an undignified noise. He swallowed.

“We’ll see you up there,” Riddle said without looking at any of them. The table was silent for a moment before those leaving for their room began shuffling around. 

Harry was very still. He wanted to perform an act of defiance but he couldn’t think of anything to do. All the fight in him had disappeared, he wanted to give in. At this point, he was beginning to get tired and he didn’t want to make any more mistakes. He might have been able to afford a mistake around Ogg, but certainly not a Slytherin, and certainly not these Slytherins. 

He looked at Riddle. Riddle looked back. Harry flicked his eyes down and impulsively reached out a hand to grab the last treacle tart before Riddle could touch it. He stood up, ready to leave with his new roommates. He could’ve sworn as he walked away that he saw a smirk on Riddle’s face. 

So far, Harry had managed to not talk to anyone on the walk to the basement. From what he could gather, Rosier and Nott were quite close, close enough to bicker like an old married couple anyway, and not be so offended by the other person that it sours their relationship. They must have been childhood friends, then. 

Mulciber and Malfoy, the M&M’s, as Harry was referring to them in his head, seemed to pair up against the other two. They didn’t look terribly close, and their conversations were polite at best, but they had probably formed an alliance of necessity in order to combat the other two hooligans in their room.

In particular, Mulciber seemed to really dislike Nott. Harry wasn’t quite sure whether it was because of the obvious obnoxiousness of the boy or whether it ran deeper than that. He looked as if he always had a nasty jibe on the tip of his tongue every time Nott spoke and voiced it whenever Rosier didn’t have something to say. Of course, Nott didn’t seemed to notice any venom behind it; he was more agitated by it than anything. Or maybe he just had really thick skin?

Malfoy was interesting to watch. He slunk around like a lone wolf, always on the edges of the pack. Harry wondered whether this was out of choice or whether he felt detached from the relationships that the others seemed to share. He did seem really eager to be close to Riddle though, so maybe it was a case of ‘I’ll have him or I’ll have no one!’.

Harry had spaced out of their conversations, in his own mind, for so long that he hadn’t noticed the silence that had crept upon them. And the glance of recognition that Nott gave him, remembering that Harry was, in fact, accompanying them. 

“So, Evans, you’re a Slytherin. Can’t say I pegged you for one,” Harry took a moment to settle back to reality, but when he did, it was with a scoff.

“Yeah, can’t say I expected it much myself,” Nott was slowing himself down to get closer to Harry, as Harry had allowed about a metre to grow between them and him until now. Rosier opened up an incredibly narrow gap between himself and Nott, so that Harry could walk just behind their shoulders if he wanted to. He didn’t. 

Ahead of them stood Mulciber and Malfoy, who were looking back and drawing to a stop themselves. 

“Hum, why not? Surely you yourself should know better than anyone which house you’re most suited to. I sure did,”

“Yeah, like that was a big surprise, Nott. Your family’s been in Slytherin for centuries,”

“Eh, eons, thank you very much, Mulciber!”

“Well, you did Hat Stall, I suppose, didn’t you?” Rosier asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer. 

“Yeah, I did,” Harry agreed, scuffing the slabs of cold stone with his dull black chukka boots as they walked along the dungeon pass. 

“Where did it want to put you?” Malfoy piped up. Harry lowered his eyes and sniffed, scrunching up his nose.

“Ravenclaw. It wanted to put me in Ravenclaw,” 

Mulciber looked as if a lemon had burst in his mouth.

“What?” Harry asked innocently.

“Ravenclaw?” 

“Yes,” 

“The hat wanted to put you into _Ravenclaw_?” 

“Yes! Why is that so hard to believe!”

“It’s just-” The skin around Mulciber's eyes tightened he and pursed his lips.

“Yeah?” 

Mulciber looked him up and down.

“I don’t know why it would’ve stalled,” He finished. Malfoy sniggered beside him. Harry looked at the group with his mouth dropping low; they all looked uncomfortably disbelieving. 

“What do you mean? I have lots of brains! Lots and lots!” 

“Hum, yes, I’m sure you do,” Rosier said, an over-enthused smile spreading like conflagration on his face. 

“Um, excuse you all. The hat said that I have the perfect appetite for research! And they are right! I love knowledge!” Harry said, heaving out strings of sentences with all the offensive behaviour he could muster. 

“Yes, of course,” Rosier said, trying his best to be mature and settle his grin. 

“Hang on, there’s a very good way to test this,” Nott said, sticking a finger up in the air. The was no wind down there to check, so he couldn’t be excused for not acting like an asshole. Harry couldn’t see why he had to be such a prick about being a prick.

“Tell us, oh noble one,” Malfoy droned from not much further ahead now, as he and Mulciber had fallen back to be almost in line with the group. Even Harry was beginning to see a broadening space designed for him to take between Nott and Rosier. Not that he was ever going to take it. 

“Oh go on, get the humiliation over with,” Harry said, knotting his arms together. Nott grinned like a Cheshire cat and stuck his nose into the air. 

“We test him!” The easy energy of the hallway faltered. 

“We test him,” Rosier repeated flatly.

“Are you kidding me? That’s your big idea? That’s your grand plan, we test him?” Mulciber fumed, throwing his hands about in complete dismay. Malfoy nodded and whistled a low, sad whistle.

“Yes, that was pretty anticlimactic, Nott,” He said, looking rather disappointed. Harry wrangled with the smile budding in his cheeks.

“Hang on… ah! We ask him to guess the password for the common room, eh? Eh?!” Nott nudged Rosier’s shoulder. Rosier spent a moment looking confused but then his eyes widened and an enchanting smile dawned across his face, lighting up his dark blue eyes and practically twisting his soft, black curls in pleasure. 

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Arc!” He said, thoroughly impressed at his friends ingenuity. 

“Wait now, what?” Harry said, arms fumbling out from under his armpits.

“Yes, that does sound interesting,” Malfoy giggled. Mulciber just looked gruffly impressed. 

“Hang on, wait, what? You want me to- How in the world am I supposed to guess a password to a common room?”

“You said it yourself, the Sorting Hat wanted you to go into Ravenclaw,” 

“Well, I did but…” Harry trailed off, cursing himself for choosing Ravenclaw as a decoy house. He shook his head from side to side. “What in the world do you take Ravenclaw’s for? Clairvoyants?” 

“Well, statistically, they are more likely to be clairvoyant,” Mulciber pointed out. 

“It’s not something unimaginable, or even imaginable,” Rosier soothed. “It’s actually something you can deduce,” 

“Deduce? What the hell from?” 

“Why, Slytherin, of course!” Nott said, all gleeful that his idea was being taken sincerely. 

“Slytherin? Could you be any more vague?” Harry grumbled. They all slowed as they approached the entrance to the common room. Or at least, Harry assumed it was; he didn’t imagine that the group was huddling around a bare patch of stone simply for fun.

“Alright. We’ll give you a clue,” Rosier said. The other three looked to Rosier, expecting him to rattle a clue off. Rosier sighed and began scratching his neck, which was long and smooth and looked as if it were carved from an ivory tusk. 

“It’s something to do with Salazar Slytherin’s favourite animal,” Rosier stated. 

“Something to do with Salazar Slytherin’s favourite animal?” 

“Yes. I believe that’s a fair clue, isn’t it gentlemen?” Rosier said, crossing his arms. The other around nodded their heads in assent. 

“Practically generous, Altair,” Nott mused, carrying out surveillance detail on his already perfected nails. 

Harry scoffed. They weren’t a very conscientious lot when it came to making up clues, were they? How in the world was he supposed to guess the password from a keyword as vague as ‘something’? But their faces were persistent and domineering, so he would have to at least take a stab at an answer.

“Alright,” Harry scrubbed his face with his right hand and crossed his arms around his middle, so that he held his body at his sides. He hoped that it would stop him from lashing out in irritation; he just wanted to fall asleep at this point. 

“So, something to do with Slytherin’s… well the obvious answer to his favourite animal is the snake,” He said, gesturing unconsciously to the breast pocket of his blazer under his cloak, where the Slytherin crest’s stitches nestled together. 

Rosier raised his eyebrows as if to say, _‘is that the best you’ve got? What the hell do you mean, you were a Hat Stall? Come on, tell us what house you were_ really _almost put in. Weak little Hufflepuff? Are you a rat sent from Gryffindor? How would you like to wake up to a Crucio tomorrow morning, you Gryffindor-’_ okay, Harry was starting to over-diagnose again. 

Harry cleared his throat and begin to pace slowly from side-to-side.

“But, you all love Slytherin too much to just say snake. And you are all high class, so of course you are going to use the correct term. It’s got to be something to do with a basilisk then,” Harry said. Rosier blinked.

Something to do with a basilisk? Petrification? No, too vague. Murder? Bit on the nose for this lot, maybe. Parseltongue? Perhaps, but it didn't seem related enough to the animal itself for Harry to entertain the idea much. Something to do with…

Harry stopped pacing. Riddle on the train. What had he said? Slytherin’s wand was a basilisk’s horn? Harry smirked. How ironic, Voldemort had actually helped him, despite what Harry was sure were his best efforts not to. 

“Basilisk’s horn,” He said out loud, turning his head to look at the wall. The wall buckled and fizzed, much like the one leading from the Leaky Cauldron to Diagon Alley would when activated, to reveal a narrow passageway and a glint of the view beyond into the common room. 

“Impressive!” Mulciber said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. 

“I think you made it too easy, Rosier,” Malfoy said, yawning like a cat and flashing rows of perfectly white and gleaming teeth. How was it that Harry had managed to get _himself_ of all people sorted into the best groomed house in the whole of Hogwarts?

“No way, he was a Hat Stall, Malfoy!”

The M&M’s walked through the hole in the wall first, followed immediately by Rosier and then Nott, who gave a complimentary punch to Harry on his left pectoral before he left the hallway. Harry made a gruff noise in the back of his throat and inched after Nott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what, I really feel like double uploading today, so expect a chapter to zoom in shortly after this one!
> 
> Also, quick fun fact: Chukka boots were a style of ankle boot that were adapted to be worn by British soldiers in the Western Desert Campaign in World War II, ending in 1943 (so a year before the year this fic starts on). They became popular for men in the general public to wear as a style of shoe after the campaign, so I imagine that Harry would have been able to get a fairly affordable pair that would have most likely been cheaper than other dress shoes (and easier to move around in). 
> 
> In the next chapter, Harry describes the Slytherin common room in agonising detail and gets to see his new room


	12. Home, Sweet Slytherin Home

The common room felt just as exclusive as the first time he had entered it. It was grand. The granite walls were very high and carved in a gothic style. Pointed arches reaching two-thirds of the way up the wall housed beautiful black and cream illustrations of Medieval Slytherin’s and their exploits. They moved in a jaunty manner, harking back to a time when wizarding enchantments on paintings mustn't have been as sophisticated as they were in modern times. It made them more charming and less unsettling than if they were moving fluidly around the common room. 

In the tympanum’s of the pointed arches were carvings of Slytherin oriented designs such as snakes and mythical beasts, as well as wizards re-enacting famous wizarding legends. 

Above the arches, a thick and ornate border was carved. That provided the frame for a long and winding carving of a snake. It’s scales seemed to almost glisten iridescently as if the snake were breathing. However, Harry was pretty sure that it wasn’t animated to move around. It was probably meant as more a constant reminder that you were a student of Slytherin and to never forget it. 

The fireplace was decorated with snake-like gargoyles towards the top and an altogether resplendent jubilation of all things wizard. He could see Thestrals, Hippogriffs, Erklings, Doxies, and Pixies, but to name a few magical creatures. 

The common room was furnished with a mix of dark emerald chesterfield sofas and bergères chairs. A blanket of brocade design was folded into a strip and draped on the back of each sofa in the room, on the side furthest from the roaring fire, ready for students to commence their start-of-term cosy time. 

Any wood in the room was the same type of black and decadent walnut that spoke of tradition and money.

The windows let in an impressive amount of light, considering that they were under a lake (which was evidenced by the near constant stream of aquatic life moving behind them), but it was still much more subdued than if you were in Gryffindor tower. The light was also tinged green, either manipulated to be so for dramatic effect, or a natural consequence of the common room's location. 

The lights on the ceiling were therefore a welcome addition to the room. Harry could spy ornate stencilled designs on the rounded black metal lampshades that fell like caged drops into the room.

They looked to be the only students in the common room, although, that didn’t necessarily mean that they were the first ones to arrive. Perhaps Slytherins were not typically the 'common room' types. Seemed a shame, if you asked Harry, to have such a fancy common area and not use it. 

The M&M’s, Rosier, and Nott stood around a walnut board that was decorated with explosions of vines in a baroque style . Harry approached them and looked between their shoulders to see what they were looking at. Rosier shuffled to the side slightly and Harry pressed in closer. 

“Oh, a notice board,” he mumbled. 

‘Slytherin Notice Board’ was painted in gold medieval-style calligraphy at the top of the board, and a series of white parchment pages were pasted upon it: A note on the password, a brief history of the meaning behind the password, and a subsequent warning not to share the password with anyone. Class time-tables for each of the years. Study group sign up sheets and a fairly compendious list of tips to gather up house points. 

It was an overwhelmingly more productive notice board than the mess that the Gryffindor one was, where just about anyone could fly a notice up on it about literally anything; so much so that other notices (more important ones) would be buried amongst the rubble of all the other crap people put up, such as talent shows in the girl’s dormitory and informal wizarding chess tournaments scheduled for some time after midnight. 

Something told Harry that the Slytherin notice board would not be so liberal to change. 

“Ugh, why did I go with Herbology?” Nott groaned. 

“What?” Rosier enquired.

“Look,” Nott said, using his finger to hover under the name of the Professor. Rosier made a noise of understanding. Harry grunted.

“What, too Mudblood for your tastes?” Harry accused. Nott let out a whoop of a laugh.

“Hah! Not necessarily," he smiled at Harry, "The problem is, he’s a right pansy,” He grumbled the last part, as if saying the words were like chewing on gravel.

“Well, what are you expecting? A hardened warrior? He teaches Herbology,” Malfoy said.

“And to that extent, you were the one who took Herbology, so what does that say about you?” Mulciber joked. Nott hit him.

“Shut up! My mother practically ordered me to take it! Not my fault she wants someone to help her look after the garden,” He held out a hand to halt Mulciber from opening his mouth even further. “Don’t you start about my mother again,”

“Herbology is pretty important though,” Harry piped up. The group turned to look at him with upturned lips.

“No, I’m serious! It is!” He huffed. “Think of it this way, everyone always talks about potions as if its this great, amazing subject, but potions would be impossible without Herbology. I mean where do you expect most of the ingredients come from? And medicines for that matter too. Next time you get sick, think about the fact the only reason that you’re getting better is because of Herbology,” 

“Yeah, Harry’s right,” Rosier said, with a smile. 

“Of course he’s right, he was almost put into Ravenclaw, remember!” Nott said, clapping him on the back. He smiled up at Harry brightly. 

He must have really appreciated Harry defending him. Harry supposed that people rarely defended each other in Slytherin. It was dog-eat-dog here, after all: until people were sure that others would think that you were right, they would leave you to bleed out in the dirt. 

“We should probably head up to the room now, I’d say everyone will be coming back soon. We do not want to be here when the crowds get here,” Rosier said, flicking his blue eyes to the left. A wide and pointed archway lead to what looked to be a wing of rooms.

It felt weird to Harry; to not have to climb stairs to get to his room. The walls of the hallway seeped cool air into the space, despite the presence of candles in cones of black metal bars latched onto those very same walls. The slabs of stone around the walls and floor of the hallway were very large and wide and Harry imagined that if you were to play a game of not stepping on the cracks between the slabs, you would have to launch yourself with _considerable_ force to reach the following stone. 

“Home, sweet home,” Mulciber moaned, as he tapped his wand on the door. 

What lay beyond the door was deserving of Harry's sudden breathlessness. The entrance was flanked on either side by waist-height bookcases. Atop them were an assortment of educational things such as globes and maps, as well as what looked to be a kettle on Harry’s left. A couple of pale green chairs, in a settee style, with armrests of padded cream calico, were slotted into the corners of the room beside the bookcase, designed for sleepless nights or when you needed to cram before a test. 

The room, much like the common room, was made of granite, but the carvings on the walls were a lot more timid and demure; just borders, lined with intertwined snakes. The main light in the room was from a circle in the centre of the ceiling, moulded in a stucco style, which squeezed out a bud of pale silver, attached to a delicate black chain.

It was half an octagon in shape, with the end of the octagon housing large windows and a raised platform with a short runner rug lining the edge of it. The windows were pill-shaped and the Slytherin crest was framed in a large circle in both the upper and lower curve of the pill. The rest of the window frame created little conjoined squares full of intricate floral patterns. The metal work of the window frame was narrow and jet black, so black it looked freshly painted. Seats emulating the curve of the windows sat under them, so that one could do a bit of fish watching if one was in the mood. The fabric was again pale green and pimples of shimmering silver were sewn into it. 

The beds lined the walls leading up to the windows. They were carved from a dark wood and were thickly framed, filled again with carvings. Four poster as well, of course. A trimming of the Slytherin colours wrapped itself along the top of the bed frame, like a scarf, and underneath hung green spidery silk curtains. The bedspreads themselves were made of green silk and white brushed cotton. They were fairy simple but edged with cool cream stencilled patterns of snakes and vines.

A large rectangular rug spanned the centre of the room, ending once it reached the beds. Trunks rested at their bases and side tables lined their insides.

The lake water was green and lapped upon the windows so gently that it was difficult to detect the sound at all. 

A well hidden door lead to what Harry presumed was the bathroom on the left of the room, just before the window.

Harry idled in the centre of the room, whilst all the others moved to their beds. Nott was in the bed closest to the bathroom, Rosier was in the one next to his. Opposite Rosier was Mulciber and beside Mulciber was Malfoy’s bed. 

Harry didn’t see a fifth bed in the room at all. 

“I guess my stuff’s on the way?” Harry spoke. No one responded. 

“Hey, does anyone have a spare quill?” Nott said, digging through his trunk. He pulled up a rather sad looking halved goose feather. “Mine must have broken during transit,”

“Yeah, I have one here,” Rosier said, plucking out a beautifully silver feather and reaching over to Nott for him to take it.

“Just fix it yourself, you imbecile!” Mulciber groaned, piling books up onto his bed. 

“It’s never the same if you fix it!” Nott huffed. He looked over to Rosier’s soft face. “Thank you Altair,”

“Rosier, I hope you have a tab open with Nott for all the times he has taken a quill from you,”

“That’s a wonderful idea Mulciber. I might have to do that. In fact, hand that over here Arc,” Rosier said. Nott levitated the broken remains of his previous quill onto Rosier’s lap, with a curious expression on his face. Rosier picked up the feather end and inspected it.

“Yep, just as I thought,” He flung the quill pieces at Nott, who held up his arms to shield his face. “This is the same one I gave you last time!” 

“Your magic ability is wasted on you, Nott,” Mulciber crowed, slamming books down on his end table. 

“Shut up, Mulciber! Don’t make me have to start calling you Vicky!” 

Malfoy groaned from his seated position on his bed, one leg bent under his body, other leg extended long to toe the floor. He already had a sleek pair of olive slippers on his feet. 

“Please don’t start just seconds into us entering the room,” Rather than sounding exacerbated, as one might expect, Malfoy’s tone was riling in and of itself. It was needlessly sharp. 

Harry sighed. Nott probably just wanted Rosier’s quill. It was entirely beautiful. 

A crack disturbed the room and Harry’s bed was suddenly up against the wall, snuggled in between Mulciber and Malfoy’s beds, complete with his battered and torn trunk at its foot. 

“Merlin, what happened to your trunk?” Malfoy said, turning his nose up at it and looking warily at his, lest Harry’s trunk spread its appearance to his perfect, pearl-beaded one. Harry’s trunk looked like a pirate’s chest that had been shelled in an epic battle, before being hastily buried in a bed of sand. 

“It’s completely fine, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry said, touching it with his boot. He took out a wand and swished a Cistem Aperio at the trunk. It clicked open and violently swung back, banging painfully onto the bed. Harry winced and checked for any damage.

“Oh, yeah, it looks completely fine alright,” Mulciber chuckled, settling down on his bedsheets. 

“It does its job though, doesn’t it? It holding-”

“Don’t say anymore! Lest you jinx it!” Rosier shouted out. However, unfortunately for Rosier, Harry was an expert at jinxing himself. He was literally in Slytherin and hanging out with Voldemort’s crew despite his promises to himself that he wouldn’t be. So, his trunk decided to boycott any further relationship with Harry’s possessions and spewed Harry’s spare robes and uniform into his face, as well as a pair of grey woollen socks, for good measure.

Harry hung his head in defeat.

“It was the only one I could afford to buy,” The room erupted in laughter. Harry couldn’t be sure whether they laughing at the situation or his poverty. Either way, they were clearly having the best laugh  
that they had ever had, as they were all holding together their sides and Nott was about to topple from his bed. 

He did, which just prompted further laughing, especially from Mulciber. Harry even joined in too, because he was able to convince himself that they were all laughing at Nott then, and not him. 

“You had a whole Hogwart’s card, though,” Malfoy said, sobering up first. “And it was Dumbledore’s card too.” 

“Yeah,” Mulciber said, wheezing off his laughter and wiping a tear from his eye. “I would have taken all I could, bought the most expensive stuff,” 

“You do know that there are no limits on the cards, right? It’s the Hogwart’s Fund, it’s practically bottomless,” Rosier said, brow careworn and patronising. Harry blushed despite himself.

“Well, I didn’t expect there to be a cap on it or anything, but I didn’t think it was right to just spend money that wasn’t mine frivolously,” 

“You’re a Slytherin aren’t you? You’ve got to take the advantage while you can!” Nott said, laughing to himself. Whist no one else joined in, Harry could tell they all agreed with him. 

“Yeah well, there might be someone else needing it more than me. Besides, my stuff is fine as it is,” Harry said, folding the last of his clothes back into his trunk and removing a pair of blue and green striped pyjamas from the top of the pile. 

He paused and tightened his shoulders. He knew that he probably shouldn’t ask, but the temptation was killing him.

“Why do you all hate Dumbledore so much anyway?”

“What?” Rosier said, extending his cloak out in front of him so that he could fold it in on itself properly. 

“Well, it just seems like you all hate him, or something. I’m just wondering what he did to make you all hate him so much,” Mulciber went very quiet and stopped rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. He began watching Harry as Harry lowered himself down onto his bed in a considered manner. His eyes narrowed.

“Hate him? Hate’s a very strong word, Evans,” Nott said, lounging on his bed with his head nestled against his upright pillows and twisting his new quill between his fingers, watching the feather change colours in the green tinged light. His crossed feet bounced against each other.

Harry raised his eyebrows. He wouldn’t have expected Nott of all people, the most extreme and opinionated person in Riddle's group, to say that. The other inhabitants of the room looked happy to leave it there as well, going about settling in in a slower pace than before.

Harry chewed on his lower lip, watching as Rosier slunk into the bathroom with potions in his hands. 

“Is there something about him that I should be wary about,” Harry spoke up. This sparked the attention of everyone in the room. 

“Something you should be wary about?” Nott questioned, sticking his quill behind his ear. 

“Yeah. Should I be… cautious around him for any reason?” Harry answered. The set of shoulders that Mulciber was blessed with, softened. 

“Dumbledore…” Malfoy began. He aborted the sentence with a sigh and a look outside the largest window in the room.

“Dumbledore fancies himself a detective,” Mulciber picked up from Malfoy, hand landing on his cruppled mess of a blazer that had been discarded on his bed. “He likes to poke his nose in places it may not belong,”

“Right, so you’re saying he’s nosy?” Harry said. Mulciber leaned closer to Harry and launched his eyes at him. 

“I’m saying that he is someone to watch yourself around, because he will always be watching you,” Something told Harry that Dumbledore wasn’t the only person implied to watch himself around, if Mulciber’s lingering stare had anything to say about it. 

A rapt knock drilled into the door and Mulciber tore his eyes away to look it. He allowed his eyes to fall back down to his mattress and after a moment, he took a tuft of his fine woollen blazer in his fist. 

He stood and draped the blazer over his broad shoulders, sticking a hand into his pocket as he ploughed his way into his loafers. 

“You leaving?” Harry asked, de-weaving the knot in his laces. Mulciber spared him a look over his shoulder.

“I’ll be back,” He said tiredly and swung open the door, but not without a glance to Rosier, who was organising his side table and slapping Nott on the wrist for dipping into the bag of toffee’s he had slumped on the table. 

Mulciber closed the door firmly shut before Harry could see what direction he was turning to walk in. Harry sighed. 

He turned back to his shoes and caught eyes with Malfoy, who was watching him curiously. Malfoy was the first one to break the contact, looking once more out the windows. At what, he and Harry had no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to experiment with posting longer chapters next week, and maybe the week after, to see if its manageable, because sometimes I just get this writing spree and I end up being a good three chapters or so ahead of what I've just published. I just really love writing about these guys, you know? And the thing is, I have a good idea about where I want to go with this fic and if I don't make longer chapters, I feel like what is already going to be a long and slow fic is going to be even slower. 
> 
> So we'll see if it works out!
> 
> Next time, Harry tests his observational skills and Riddle comes to the conclusion that they share a common hobby. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves, everyone, and see you next week!
> 
> (I'll be back)


	13. Dear Diary...

Harry lay awake in the dark of his curtained bed, still wearing his glasses and harbouring a disappointed feeling in his gut.

The rest of the evening went quite slowly. The four remaining teenagers didn’t speak too much to each other, other than the odd exchange, and cross-rug relations were particularly poor; Nott and Rosier bickered out of boredom, but didn't include anyone else in their discussions, which were banal in themselves. Harry had looked to Malfoy in the hopes of perhaps striking up a conversation, but he had decided that the rest of his evening would be best spent with his nose in a book and as a result, didn’t want anything to do with Harry. 

After brushing his teeth and slapping his face with water, Harry had retired into his curtains for an early night. He hadn’t silenced his surroundings, but there was no need to do so anyway; Rosier and Nott spoke in hushed tones and Malfoy didn’t talk at all. It wasn't long until Harry could hear the sound of bed covers being disturbed on his right and the hiss of curtains closing. After another ten minutes or so, the hiss of two further curtains silenced the room entirely. That meant that there was still one bed exposed to the elements. 

Mulciber hadn’t yet returned from his late night rendezvous, and Harry had a pretty good clue as to what that rendezvous was about. Or rather who it was with.

It made Harry’s skin itch, just knowing what was going on right under his nose. But how could he do anything about it yet? None of that was in his control to stop. And it would not be wise to force control at this stage; Harry was in far too weak a position for that.

Harry wasn’t even too sure if his roommates liked him all that much. He thought perhaps that there had been moments that showed promise of a deeper connection, but his new roommates were colder customers to deal with than Harry was used to.

Making wizard friends in the past had always seemed so easy. Harry supposed his status as ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived’ had helped, but Gryffindors were so dog-like that making friends with them was just too easy. One evening together was often enough for them to call you their best friend for life. Or at least someone that they’d have breakfast with in the morning. Morgana, even Draco, a Slytherin himself, had extended the hand of friendship to him immediately upon meeting. Although, perhaps that wasn’t a fair comparison, as Harry had rather brutally shut that relationship down before it had even a chance to ferment, and it was quite obvious that Draco was far more enamoured with Harry’s title than Harry himself. 

It made Harry wonder if it really was his reputation that made anyone want to go near him in the first place, and if it was the only reason they stayed. Come to think of it, Ron and Hermione only sat with him on the train in the first place because of who he was. Or did they? Harry was sure that there was more to it than that, he was just cranky because he couldn’t sleep. 

It was all because he couldn’t shift this horrible feeling cooking in his stomach. 

Harry had always felt best when he was proactively working towards his goals. He didn’t like waiting. He didn’t like plotting. But he didn’t have his cloak, so it was too risky to leave the room. He’d have a target on his back for the rest of his time in Hogwarts if he was caught snooping around, trying to infiltrate Voldemort’s meeting. 

Harry sat up in bed and left his head flop into his hands. He needed to plan. He should plan something. He scratched his head furiously and then popped it up, hair thoroughly tousled.

“Lumos,” he whispered, pulling out his wand from under his pillow. 

Harry slunk a hand out and pushed back the curtains of his bed. He felt for a notebook that he had found in one of the back shelves of the used bookshop. Fortunately, it wasn’t actually used, but it was obviously second-hand, as the pages didn’t smell fresh and they were yellowed on the edges. He liked to imagine that it had once belonged to a wizard that frequently got notebooks for their birthdays (perhaps because they were getting on in years and people wanted to remind them of this) and consequently had in their possession more notebooks than any sane person need require, leading them to donate their surplus for wizards in need like Harry. 

This particular notebook had a gold stemmed amaryllis on its front. The petals changed colours based on the mood of the person using it. Harry noticed that they turned midnight black as he drew the book across his body to sit on his lap; indicating that he was stressed and overworked. 

Another great feature of the notebook? If you depressed the lowest petal with your finger and waited for all the mood colours to flash until you reached the original shade, a time period of approximately 7 seconds, you would be rewarded with a click and access its contents. There was no other way to open it.

The first page of the notebook glared back at Harry, starkly blank. A quill was taped to the notebook’s inner cover. Harry pealed it free and got to scratching a title into the page.

_My Fool-proof Plan to Take Down Voldemort  
(Again) _

It was already beginning to sound like a recipe for disaster.

_Step 1:_

Harry paused brushing the feather against his skin. What the hell would step 1 be?

He scribbled out ‘Step 1’ and instead wrote down:

_Plan A: Kill Voldemort._

_Voldemort should have already made his diary horcrux by now. And he would have killed his father and grandparents over the summer. I think I saw him wearing the ring, so that one’s not made yet. He makes that towards the end of the year I think._

_If I can destroy his horcrux, I can sneak into his room and kill him. Or incarcerate him? No I have to make sure he's never a threat to anyone again, permanently._

_Do I just Avada Kedavra him then?_

Harry stared into the darkness of his bed curtains. He could, he was there to stop Voldemort, wasn’t he? Wouldn’t it be right to do that? Even if he ended up in Azkaban for murder, he would have stopped so much future death, including the death of his own parents. That had to be a worthy sacrifice.

And yet, the possibility of being sent to Azkaban for the rest of his days sent chills into his bones. He had thought that he was prepared for anything, anything to get rid of the future threat of Voldemort, but a fate worse than death shook him more than he had given it credit to. 

Besides, if he thought about it, destroying a Horcrux was not easy to do whilst remaining incognito. For one, Voldemort would _feel_ it if Harry destroyed a Horcrux, and him being who he was, he would make a replacement immediately. It would be almost impossible for Harry to get the chance then to destroy a second.

Maybe killing wouldn’t be the best option to focus on right now.

What else could he do?

_Plan B: I become Voldemort’s friend._

After Harry wrote the words down on the page, he furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t know where that had come from. 

It wasn’t necessarily a bad idea, but could Harry really do that? Befriend his parents’ killer? Not to mention, the probable killer of all his friends and remaining family?

Harry scribbled it out with the shake of his head. He paused and sucked on his lower lip. 

_Plan B: Usurpation_

Harry eyes lit themselves ablaze. He encircled the words he had just written with a rejuvenated vigour. 

Of course! Undermine the king and he no longer _is_ the king! Not that Harry wanted to be a Lord or anything, especially not of darkness, or whatever Voldemort was trying to go for, but he didn’t have to be; he just had to overthrow Riddle. The Slytherins could get a taste of democracy for a change, or at the very least, a republic!

A click assaulted the silence of the room. The door!

Harry scrambled to shove his quill back in the notebook and burrowed it under his pillow. He then slammed his head down onto the pillow releasing a puff of air and he disappeared any light.

Mulciber’s steps sounded soft, indicating that he had taken off his shoes before coming in. Harry heard a tap on the stone floor and the depression of Mulciber’s bed. 

A shuffling sound, a sigh, a swish, and then silence. Mulciber must have closed his curtains. 

Harry moved from his curled up position on his side to his back. Was that all he had stayed up for? To hear Mulciber going to bed? He hadn’t even brushed his teeth!

He looked at the ceiling of his bed, which was a stunning silvery green in the light of day. At night, it was nothing but black  
Under his head, Harry detected a lump. 

He breathed out and discarded his glasses somewhere beside his pillow.

It didn't take him long then to fall asleep, but when he did, he proceeded to have a dream about giving Mulciber a life sentence in Azkaban for poor dental hygiene. It was a good dream.

Harry woke up to the sounds of people moving around. He groaned and pushed his right hand into an eye socket. It felt too early. 

He sat up and hesitantly opened his curtains with a swish of his hand. He pawed for his glasses beside his pillow.

After sliding the spectacles up his nose, he happened to lock eyes with Mulciber, who was shining his shoes, of all things, whilst sitting on the edge of his bed. Mulciber nodded to him, eyes flicking up to Harry’s hair. 

“Morning,”

“Good morning,” Harry grumbled, swinging his legs to the right, in the direction of Malfoy’s bed, so that he wasn’t facing Mulciber anymore.

“Merlin, Evans, your hair!” Rosier said, laughing. Harry didn’t bother feeling self-conscious about it. 

“I know, it’s always like that in the mornings. And no matter what I do, it’ll stay that way the rest of the day,” he droned, standing up and stretching into a yawn. 

“Really?” Rosier said, stuffing his arms into his blazer. “Maybe if you cut it, you might have more luck with it,”

Harry spied his shoulder. He could see limp curls twisting together on the blue and green pinstripes of his night shirt. He had left it grow in the past year. A haircut was the least of his worries at the time. 

“Forgive me if I don’t ask you to Diffindo it off for me,” he said, making his way to his trunk. Rosier chuckled and walked in the direction of the bathroom. 

He stopped outside Nott’s bed and sighed. The curtains were still tightly closed.

“I hadn’t missed this,” Rosier said, sticking his wand into the interior of the bed and casting a Lumos. A screech could be heard from inside the bed, albeit muffled. 

Mulciber barked out a laugh as the curtains pulled back and an infuriated Nott popped into an upright position.

“Morgana, Altair!” 

“No, its only me here. You need to get up now or we’ll be late for breakfast,” Rosier said innocently, walking into the bathroom.

Harry left the room with all of his other roommates expect Malfoy, whom Harry was informed had already gone down for breakfast. 

It was a pleasant walk down, although Harry was practically swallowing his tongue to stop himself from asking Mulciber why he had returned to the room so late. He already knew the answer anyway, he just wanted to see what expression it would prompt from Mulciber.

It occurred to Harry, as he was wrestling with these thoughts, that it was sort of strange Mulciber was the only one who had left the room. All of his roommates were friends with Voldemort, or whatever passed for being friends with Voldemort. They had sat on the train together, they had a meal together, and Riddle definitely tolerated them, as he had talked to them during the evening. He considered them worthy of his attention, so why weren’t they at the meeting?

Especially Malfoy. That really puzzled Harry. He had been convinced on the train that Malfoy was the closest thing Riddle had to a right-hand man; from the way that he acted and the way that others reacted to him. At the feast too, Malfoy had sat literally on Voldemort’s right-hand side. 

Maybe, it wasn't a Death Eater meeting then? Or Knights of Wal- whatever it was called. Mulciber could have been called out for something else entirely. 

Whatever the truth was, Harry was not going to reach it at the top of the dungeon's stairs, nor would he on an empty stomach. So, he resolved to eat some bacon and eggs and observe.

At the entrance of the Great Hall, the group stumbled upon Slughorn, who was determined, this morning, to eat some French toast. The Professor blinked at the group and then smiled.

“Good morning, my Slytherins! Wonderful morning, isn’t it?” Why, if Harry wasn’t currently residing in a dungeon, unable to see anything but lake water outside of his windows, he might have been able to answer the Professor. Luckily, the other members of his ensemble were able to manage a response, perhaps indebted to years of experience being asked stupid questions by their Head of House. 

“Glad to see you all so well this morning,” Slughorn said, walking through the entrance of the hall with them at a slow taxi. “Especially you, Harry. How was your sleep? Good?” 

“Good? Yes, thank you, Professor,” The man stopped, a caring expression soaking his face. 

“It can’t have been easy, first night away from home, in a strange place with… new people,” Harry glanced at the 'new people' in question, who suddenly perked up at being mentioned and were doing their best to look like Harry's new, caring friends, smiling as if someone were holding them at wandpoint. Harry returned his eyes to Slughorn.

“I was fine, thank you for your concern,” 

“You’re so strong,” Slughorn looked ready to remove a handkerchief from his pocket and dab at the corners of his eyes. Harry offered an awkward, crooked smile.

Slughorn walked the group to their table, where their assigned seats surrounding Voldemort were the same as the night before. Avery caught Harry’s eyes as he approached and offered a little wave.

“Good morning all,” Slughorn said, smiling at the chorus of replies from Riddle and his band of merry men. Then, he looked at Harry, who was about to board his place across from Riddle at the table.

“Harry,” Harry stopped and looked at the aging professor. “If you have any worries, any difficulties, any queries, anytime _at all_ that you need me, my office is always open,”

“Thank you, professor,” Harry said, offering, at last, a genuine smile. 

“You take care of him, chaps!”

Slughorn left the boys to their breakfast. Harry picked up a few slices of bacon and two fried eggs and dumped each onto his plate, not paying much attention to where they landed. 

Riddle certainly paid attention to where the contents of his plate resided. He had two triangles of buttered toast overlapped so that they formed the shape of the letter ‘M’. Two slices of fried tomato were placed exactly in the centre of each piece of toast, with the most perfect sprinkle of black pepper and salt on each tomato, none of it spilling accidentally to the bread.

Harry didn’t think that this type of observation was all that helpful, but it invaded his mind nonetheless. 

“So, how was your first night at Hogwarts, Harry?” Avery said, cutting through some of the talk at the table. Harry blinked up at him with a mouth full of food. He swallowed, so violently that his throat hurt as it moved the food down his oesophagus. 

“It was nice, thank you,” He said, wincing. 

“Yeah, he was almost a Ravenclaw, you know,” Nott stated. 

“Really?” Riddle said, flicking his eyes up to look at Harry from the morning paper. He didn’t look surprised, shocked, or even a little intrigued. Harry looked to his right, eyes resting on Mulciber who was filling his toast up with scrambled egg. 

“Yeah, that’s why he was Hat Stalling,” 

“Well I never,” Riddle said, popping a tomato onto his fork. Harry noticed his ring wink at him as he moved the fork to his mouth. So, Harry was right; he hadn’t made the ring into a Horcrux yet. That was… good? Probably? It didn’t really change the fact that he had already committed the necessary murders to make it into one. 

“He guessed the password to the common room, as well-“

“Wonderful, so Harry, what kind of subjects are you doing?” Riddle said, picking up his other tomato with the pincers of his fork. Harry noticed Nott shrink back slightly beside him. He remained stoic however, and split an egg open, unleashing yellow goop all over his plate. 

“Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations, Potions, Charms, and Herbology,” Nott perked up.

“You’re doing Herbology too? Ah, no wonder you were talking so highly of it!” Nott said, punching Harry jovially in the arm. Harry raised his eyebrows and allowed a little smile.

“Well, I _am_ doing it because I like it,” he said, directing a slice of egg into his mouth. 

“Perseus, you’re doing Herbology as well, are you not?” Riddle spoke up after neatly finishing his last tomato. Lestrange looked up from his plate which he had been studiously staring at during the conversation up until that point. He blinked owlishly.

“Ah, yes. Yes, I am,” 

Nott leaned forward so that he could look around Harry and he scoffed, a wide grin on his face.

“Of course! Lestrange! We _must_ sit together this year!" Nott straightened his back. "And here I was, fretting over that daisy of a professor!”

“You’d both make a lovely bouquet,” Mulciber called out around a mouthful of egg. 

Harry looked sideways as the bickering between Nott and Mulciber grew more heated. 

Lestrange was very quiet. He wasn’t a chatterbox or anything, but he seemed the kind of person to at least hum along to conversation to show that he was engaged, if he decided that he didn’t want to talk. This Lestrange wasn’t even trying to keep track of the goings-on of the table; he was just staring into his plate as if it were a void, or a Dementor. 

“Alright, calm down and chew on this!” Rosier said, launching a sausage into Nott’s open and visceral mouth. He spluttered around it and glared at Rosier pointedly. Mulciber looked as if he were thinking of laughing but his eyes caught onto something to his right and he quickly shut his face down. 

Harry looked at Riddle. He was turning back to his toast and pincered a slice in his right hand, tilting it delicately towards his mouth as his eyes scanned the paper for the exact word he had been on. A curl bounced down into his eyes and he pushed it back into the gel on his head impatiently. 

“So, you’re not taking any electives then?” Riddle asked, taking a bite of his toast. The crunch sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.

“No, no electives for me. I don’t think I’d be up to any of them,” He trailed off, unsure of whether he held any of Riddle’s attention at all. “I’m much better at the practical stuff anyway,” he said, mostly to himself. 

“Really?” Riddle said, turning the page of his newspaper. 

“Really,” Harry responded, quietly. 

Harry shifted slightly in his seat and tried to move closer to Nott, who was having a hushed conversation with Rosier.

“I don’t understand you two. You’re constantly bickering,” Rosier said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, who’s fault do you think that is?” Nott said, cutting up anything he could get his knife into on his plate.

“Your’s,” Rosier said. Nott scoffed.

“What do you mean mine, he’s the one who constantly picks on everything I say!”

“Yeah, but you always rise up to it! What have I told you about laying low and staying calm. You can’t act like such an idiot all the time,” Rosier said, cutting up his own food with a pout.

“Well, I have you, don’t I? To help me toe the line?” Nott whined.

“You mightn’t always have me Arc, I mightn’t always be around,” Rosier sighed and sagged slightly in his place.

“What in Morgana’s name do you mean by that?” Nott said, agitated bewilderment clear in his tone.

Harry’s eyes caught a flickering movement in front of him. It was Malfoy; he had cast a quick Tempus. From what Harry could tell, there was about ten minutes before classes started. Malfoy chewed on his lower lip and turned to Riddle who was preparing to turn yet another page of his paper. 

“Tom, I’ve got to go back to the dorms early. Save me a seat in Charms, would you?” He said. Riddle looked up from what he was reading and eased his mouth into a kind smile. 

“Of course, Malfoy, of course I will,” He nodded once at Malfoy’s elated face and then turned back to his newspaper, allowing a suitable amount of time before his smile faded completely off his face. 

“Actually, would you mind if I joined you, Malfoy? I um… I left something in my room and I’m only realizing it now,” Harry said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head and offering a vulnerable and soft smile. Malfoy was disgusted by the idea of having to share his walk but seemed have reservations about voicing his opinion.

“Of course, Evans. Couldn’t have you making a bad impression on your first day because of neglectful behaviour, could we?” Malfoy said, through his teeth. Harry blinked at him and then smiled.

“Oh, I’m glad you feel that way, Malfoy. It’s great to know that I have people looking out for me on my first day here. Slughorn would be so happy!” he began rising from his seat, as did Malfoy. Malfoy had a _thunderous_ expression on his face. 

“Oh!” Avery exclaimed, rummaging through his bag. “Could you believe it!” He looked at the group with mirth in his eyes. “I brought my sister’s Charms book instead of mine! How clumsy of me!”

Riddle chuckled.

“There must be something in the air this morning, everyone’s forgetting things!” Riddle's eyes lingered on Avery. Harry wasn’t too sure he liked the calculation behind them.

“What a set we are, eh?” Avery said, grinning at both Harry and Malfoy. Harry returned the smile, quietly in disbelief that they were all carrying on with such an obvious façade.

“Well, I didn’t forget anything!” Malfoy huffed, stepping out of his seat. But no one paid him any attention, and Harry and Avery gave each other one last severe expression of joy before moving themselves. 

Harry had hoped that walking with Malfoy back to the dorms would illuminate what kind of person he was and what kind of role he had in the group, but he hadn’t had much luck so far in getting him to say any more than what was polite, and his tone would be cutting enough that Harry would have to invent an entirely new topic for conversation before opening his mouth again. Harry, bless him, wasn’t terribly gifted in engaging in small talk in the first place, so he was really beginning to struggle. 

Avery hadn’t said a word so far, just remained quietly listening to the goings-on. Harry didn’t like that; it felt as if he were up to something. He had a little smile winced up by his left ear. The convenience of Avery needing to go back to the dorms with them certainly hadn't eluded Harry, but he hadn’t betrayed himself of anything yet, so Harry was left to wallow in his own suspicions. 

Malfoy and Avery, despite being in the same friend group, didn’t seem too enamoured with each other. They didn’t act in any way close and they hardly looked at one another. They weren’t awkward about it though; it seemed as if they had accepted long ago that they were never going to get along and didn’t bother trying to get closer thenceforth. It didn’t stop _Harry_ from feeling awkward, however.

“So, we all take Charms, huh? I wonder if we have any other classes together,” Harry said stiffly, hoping for a fuller dialogue than a one line response. Malfoy, who was walking ahead of both Harry and Avery, cast an eye over his shoulder and held his mouth in disgust.

“I imagine that we will have some, you choose very popular subjects after all,”

“Ah, you must be doing some obscure ones then,”

“Not necessarily,” Malfoy began, looking down his nose at Harry. “You just picked so few. Weren’t you supposed to be in Ravenclaw?” 

“So that’s why the Hat said Slytherin!” Harry said, pinching his chin in a scholarly way. “We’ve finally solved the riddle!” 

He heard a flickering laugh beside him. It was from Avery, who was doing a fairly shoddy job of hiding his grin.

“I apologise, it’s just that you’re such a riot, Harry!” Avery said. Harry scrunched up his nose.

“I am?”

“Of course you are!” He looked at Malfoy’s back. 

“Besides, you know better than anyone Malfoy that quality is better than quantity!” Malfoy didn’t say anything, but his back muscles tightened up around his shoulders. Harry’s eyes lingered for a moment but then looked over at Avery, who was walking with his hands behind his back, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“What subjects are you taking, Avery?” Harry asked.

“Oh, much the same as yours, if you omit Herbology and substitute that with Ancient Runes. I also do Divination with this fellow here,” he said, indicating Malfoy. “But I must admit, I lack any sort of ‘Inner Eye’ myself,” 

Malfoy’s feet jarred on the granite below him, as if it had stared to melt and he had been stuck to it. Harry and Avery stopped as well, out of surprise. Malfoy swung around and bounded up to them. His teeth were bared and his eyes glittered with malice.

“What?” Avery said, with his open palms raised in front of him. Surrender wouldn’t do him much good when Malfoy looked just about ready to rip his throat out. Harry took half a step backwards to avoid getting blood on his robes, just in case. 

“You know what you did!” Malfoy growled out. 

“I- I really don’t-,” Avery attempted, leaning back and away from Malfoy.

“You told him!” Malfoy took a step closer to him, pushing against Harry’s side. 

“Told him wha-?”

“You know what!” Some of Malfoy’s saliva jumped ship and parachuted to the granite floor below. Avery eyed it warily.

“That you do Divination?” He asked slowly, twisting his wrists to the side. 

“No! You told him that I had an Inner Eye!” Malfoy’s cheeks were blooming rose buds under his skin. Harry blinked. 

“I- I didn’t tell him that,” Avery said, looking at Harry for assurance. Harry didn’t offer any, he just looked at Malfoy, completely flabbergasted. Malfoy had an Inner Eye? _He_ was the clairvoyant all along? 

“Yes you did!”

“No, I didn’t Malfoy-!”

“Merlin, you _always_ do this! You can’t keep _anything_ to yourself! You’re always telling everyone _everything_! You just can’t _ever_ keep your mouth shut, _can_ you?!” Avery opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy held up a finger and pushed on ahead. 

“I don’t care if you do it to others, but never, _ever_ do it to me!” He finished. Malfoy’s hair shone against his tomato red skin and a vein blemished his forehead.

He seemed to remember himself then, and withdrew from the confrontation, shouting out the password to the common room and fleeing within. 

Avery and Harry stood silently for a moment. They were motionless, except for when Avery got tired of having his hands raised. Harry looked to Avery and, after a beat, Avery looked at Harry. 

“That’s… that’s Malfoy for you! He’s got quite the temper!” Avery said with an airy laugh. They started walking again, albeit in a hesitant manner. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. 

“Oh, and you have him as a roommate! That’s going to be fun! Never a dull day with Malfoy around!” Avery said, as if he were trying to convince Harry that Malfoy’s aggression was just an endearing quality of his. He laughed, to try and dispel any leftover tension, but it wasn’t very effective. 

“Um, Harry?” Avery said, as they approached the common room entrance. 

“Yeah?”

“You- you know, I’m not… as bad as Malfoy said I was. He was just angry, although I don’t really know why, but I’m sure he had a good reason,” Well, Avery had sort of implied that Malfoy may have had an Inner Eye, but Harry probably wouldn’t have clocked it at all without Malfoy’s outburst. At least, not right away.

“I-I just hope that this hasn’t changed your opinion of me too much,” Avery said, quirking up an eyebrow. Harry searched his face. 

“No, it hasn’t,” He said, adding a quick flick of a smile. Harry’s opinion of Avery really hadn’t changed, he already knew that Avery was shady from the start. 

But, Avery was none the wiser to this and looked relieved to have been acquitted of any charges. He turned to the common room wall and called out the password. He then indicated to Harry to join him through the passage into the common room once the bricks had finished spinning out of place

The area was thankfully free of any homicidal blondes, so Avery and Harry were able to get to their dorm rooms without much hassle. Harry was first to reach his room. 

“Well, this is me,” he rested a hand on the door knob. Avery nodded.

“Yes, I believe it is,” he smiled and looked at Harry with his hands resting in his pockets. 

“Ah!” he said, with a jolt. “I meant to ask you this earlier but, well, we both know what happened to stop that,” Harry raised his eyebrows and leaned on the door knob.

“Don’t we just,” they shared a smile.

“Well, anyway, I just wanted to ask you if you’ve ever played Quiddich before,” Harry blinked in surprise and shifted his weight on his feet.

“Oh, yes, I have,” 

“Oh, that’s great!” Avery said, beaming. “You see, we have a House Quiddich team, and I'm the Slytherin captain. It’s a fairly big deal in Hogwarts, Quiddich, and the whole school involved, watching the matches and so-on-so-forth. And well, I was just wondering if perhaps you might like to try out for the team?” He said, raising his voice in apprehension. 

Could it be? Was it too good to be true? Harry, out on the pitch again, playing Quiddich? It was like a dream!

“I’d- I’d be open to that, yeah,” Avery let out a gleeful laugh.

“Great! Fantastic! I’ll let you know when try-outs are, then,” Avery said, pulling away from Harry.

“Sounds good,” Harry nodded.

“Alright! I’ll see you in Charms!” 

“Not if he kills me first,” Harry replied, pointing at the door. Avery let out a grand laugh and turned around. He came up to a door about five down from Harry’s, at the end of the hall. He looked across to Harry before entering the room.

“Go on! Don’t be shy! He won’t actually kill you, I promise; he’s too high brow for that!” he said, shooing Harry away with his wrist. 

“Easy for you to say!” Harry rebutted, twisting the door knob and heading into his room. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, but the bathroom door was firmly shut. 

Harry made his way over to his bed and sunk into it. He was already drained and the day had hardly begun! He had an additional problem of having no idea what to do now that he was here.

The bathroom door clicked open and Malfoy’s head bobbed out from behind it. When he saw Harry, his face squeezed up. 

“Malfoy!” Harry said, jumping up from his bed. But Malfoy wasn’t there to stay, and he bounced from the room, leaving Harry all alone. 

Harry sighed and lowered himself again. The Charms classrooms had better not have changed in the intervening years before Harry attended Hogwarts. 

He tilted his head to the side to effectively scratch it free of inhibitions. He spied his pillow and got to contemplating what was under it. Leaning across his bed, he pulled the notebook free. He looked at it for a moment before lifting the flap of his satchel up and slotting it between his textbooks. He then pushed himself up by his knees and adjusted the strap on his shoulder.

He could probably catch up with Malfoy if he ran. Or he could trail him. Yeah, trailing him would be safer. 

Harry fell into one on the couches near the common room fire. After a deep breath, he freed his bag strap from his shoulder and hung it from the arm of the chair. 

It had been a long, long day. 

After successfully trailing Malfoy all the way to Charms, Harry found a seat towards the back of the classroom from where he could observe everyone. He did the same in his only other class of the day, Potions, although he quickly learned that Slughorn was unimpressed to see him sitting so far back in the room, away from Riddle and his friends, and asked Harry plenty of questions to make him feel included. 

He lifted his head from the back of the couch and bent over himself to open his bag. He prised out his notebook and beheld it. Harry looked around himself for prying eyes and then opened it. Picking up his quill, he decided to get to work before he forgot all the mental notes he had made throughout the day. 

_Plan B: Usurpation_

_Voldemort wants Rosier._

It was something that Harry had concluded by around lunch time that day. Riddle was plotting to get Rosier’s allegiance. Incidents kept stacking up, one on top of the other, until it was something he could no longer ignore. They came in the guise of offers to sit next to Riddle, and study sessions to overcome anything that Rosier was unsure of in the lesson. This gooey, attentive nature was not natural to Riddle and was an obvious calculation to get Rosier on his side. However, there was one blaringly obvious matter that needed to be addressed in conjunction with that. 

_Voldemort does not want Nott_

Riddle, in no way, wanted anything to do with Nott. Harry had his own suspicions as to why; perhaps it was his brazenness, his outspokenness, his complete lack of will to conform: it could have been any one of these. Regardless, Nott didn’t have what Riddle was looking for in a Death Eater just yet, but Rosier certainly did. 

What was Riddle’s solution to this eyesore? Why, to estrange Rosier and Nott from one another, of course! 

Riddle wanted to make Nott look bad. He wanted Rosier to see that he was _so_ much better to have as a friend. That was why he talked down Nott; to make him seem like an idiot. It was why, Harry was convinced, Mulciber was so acrid with Nott. 

Mulciber had to be Riddle’s inside man. He was roommates with both Rosier and Nott, so he could see any flicker of tension, any problems, any little thing that could help them ensnare Rosier, and it would always be reported back to Riddle. Riddle had probably ordered Mulciber to rile Nott up as well. As any fool could see, whenever Nott spoke, Mulciber was there to tease him and to show Rosier just how immature Nott really was to react to such juvenile taunts. 

And, it seemed to be working. Rosier was becoming more and more distant from Nott as time went by, and he must have at least been considering cutting his losses with Nott, judging by his words that morning at breakfast. 

But Harry believed that Riddle had failed to comprehend one thing. He had failed to factor in one variable, or rather, he had factored it in incorrectly. And it was probably because he wouldn’t and couldn’t ever understand this one fundamental concept: love.

Rosier and Nott were close, close friends. They bickered non-stop and had inside jokes and Harry had never seen one without the other ever since he had arrived at Hogwarts. Riddle thought that if he could create enough tension between the two, they would eventually snap, and go their separate ways. But love is never that straight forward, and if Nott’s current presence in Riddle’s circle meant anything, it was that Rosier was not ready to give up on Nott just yet.

“Doing homework?” A voice opposite Harry said. Riddle’s voice. 

He was lounged on the couch facing Harry, legs crossed and arms spread wide, territorially. The fire cast sharp and dark shadows on his face and his hair was tipped green in the light of the room. Harry swallowed.

“Sorry?” he said, shifting in his chair. 

“Homework?” he asked again, gesturing to Harry’s book on his lap. 

“Oh, no. No, it’s not homework,” he gushed, berating himself afterwards for sounding like a nervous git. 

“Really? Because it looked as if your brain would pop from concentration,” he said, leaning on his arm, which he had propped up on the upholstery, and looking into the flames dancing in the fire place. He had the audacity to have an air of boredom about him.

“No, it’s… my diary,” Harry corrected. Riddle flicked his eyes over to Harry and then straightened himself ever so slightly. 

“You keep a diary?” he asked. Harry looked down at his chicken scratchings on its open pages.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking back up into Riddle’s brown eyes, which almost looked green in this light. The corners of Riddle’s mouth slipped a little on his face. Harry blinked. 

“I do too,” Riddle said softly. Harry studied his face with scrutiny.

“You seem like the type to,” he said, with a chill in his voice. Riddle perked up. 

“I do?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, looking back at the pages of his notebook.

“I didn’t think there was a specific type to keep a diary,” he said, pouting. 

“There is,” Harry said, still not looking at Riddle. 

“Well, then, you seem the type to as well,” Riddle said. Harry snapped his head up to glare at him, but Riddle was not looking at him. His eyes were on Avery, who was walking away from a peeved first year that shared his sandy hair. 

“Are you done?” Riddle asked Avery.

“Yeah, I told her to ask the other first years for help, not to come to me all the time,”

“That’s good,” Riddle said, a soft smile on his face.

“Yeah, I know,” Avery responded. He noticed Harry and offered him a smile.

“Well, then, we best be off. A pleasure as always, Harry,” Riddle said, rising from his perch with a cheeky grin. Harry returned the favour.

“But of course, Riddle, the pleasure is all mine,” A darkness crept into the other boy’s eyes.

"Please, do call me Tom," 

He and Avery left the common room together and headed in the direction of the dormitories. So, they definitely were roommates then. Lestrange and Dolohov must have bunked with them as well; Harry couldn’t see Riddle sharing a room with anyone but members of his little cult. 

Harry turned back to his notebook. He pressed his quill to the page and began writing on a new line:

_As a result, I will become friends with Nott and make Rosier jealous enough to pull away from Voldemort._

Nott and Rosier were like a package deal, you couldn’t have one without the other. Riddle of course knew this, that’s why he was putting in the effort to make Rosier drop Nott of his own accord . But presently, they were still the best of friends and Harry had the advantage of knowing something Riddle did not: Harry knew that Nott would ultimately become a Death Eater, regardless of Riddle's current efforts not to make him one.

Riddle probably didn’t see Nott as much of a threat because he had no one to go to, but what if he did? What if Nott wasn't so desperate to hold onto Rosier that he would willingly become a submissive slug of a man that would follow Rosier's lead and serve a master that despised his guts? What if Nott had other options of friendship, as Rosier did? Wouldn’t Rosier feel jealous to see his childhood friend cosying up to someone else, whilst he was off playing happy families with Riddle? Wouldn't he feel guilty for ever considering leaving his friend? It mightn’t be much, but if Harry could get Rosier to give up on Riddle in favour of Nott, Harry could have a real shot at dashing Riddle’s hopes to become a Dark Lord. He would certainly rattle his arrogance, at the very least. 

Harry removed his eyes from his book and rested them on the ceiling. 

He could really do this. He could vanquish Voldemort again. He just had to put his emotions on the bench for a bit and ignore the fact that he was about to make friends with a pureblooded bigot. Then, he could save everyone. 

Harry actually felt excited by the thought of outsmarting Voldemort. He felt excited to be starting this game of chess and relished the fact that it was _he_ who would make the first move! Voldemort didn’t even know that a table existed yet, but Merlin would he find out soon.

“Hey, Evans,” Harry looked down from the ceiling. The universe must’ve been onto him, as it was Nott whom the voice belonged to. He was standing in front of Harry with a Potions book in hand and a twisted mouth. 

“Hey Nott? What’s up?” Nott screwed his lips to one side and passed his book to his other hand. A episode of inner conflict aired on his face before he lowered himself down onto the seat cushion adjacent to Harry. 

“Well… I know that you were almost put into Ravenclaw and that probably means that you have some intelligence at least, and well, I did notice that you answered a few questions in Potions as well, so I assume that you’re somewhat good at Potions. 

“I slightly, ever-so slightly, don’t understand some of what we were supposed to do for homework and I was wondering if you would perhaps like to do it together? You know, so we can help each other out,” Nott said, with soft eyes. Harry smiled; maybe this would be easier than he thought!

“Yeah, I think working together would be great!” Harry said. Nott’s shoulder compressed with an exhale and he fought the relief from his face. Harry left out an amused breath 

“Great, well, should we start now?” Nott asked. 

Harry looked down at his notebook and his smile grew wry. 

“Yes, I think we should,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woweeeeee this was a really long chapter, but I think that I might prefer them longer. It's a bit more gripping I suppose than having to wait another whole week for the next chapter and it stops me waffling, so that's good. 
> 
> I don't know how sustainable this method is though. In the long run, when life starts to pick up for me towards the end of the summer, I probably won't have as much time to write both long and weekly chapters.
> 
> But that's for another time, another place, another me to deal with, so let's just enjoy the chapters as there are now. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Harry and Nott start to get closer and Rosier starts to notice. Also, Harry is in a school everybody, so we're going to see him in some classes!
> 
> Until next week, have a wonderful time, and stay safe!
> 
> Ps, hehe, I made a slight oopsie, but I've fixed it now (it was to do with Nott chiding Lestrange for not telling him that he was doing Herbology when... Lestrange would have had to do it the previous year... yeah, I don't quite know how   
> I made that brain fart, but there we are). Anyway, enjoy!


	14. Luck and Love

Amongst explanations of the importance of the direction you stir your potion in, it had transpired that Mulciber had propositioned Rosier to study Arithmancy with him in their dorm room after dinner. Nott turned down Mulciber's request on behalf of Rosier, claiming that _he_ was about to ask the boy in question to help him with his Potions homework. Naturally, Mulciber offered him no sympathy and argued that he had asked first. Nott then offered the unreasonable argument that Rosier _always_ helped him with Potions, so Mulciber could take a hike. Rosier took inspiration from Switzerland and offered a neutral compromise. But Nott didn’t appreciate having to compromise and as a result, he stormed out of the room, after making it known that he was unhappy, and gravitated to the common room where he saw Harry; someone whose opinion _really_ didn’t matter to him, making him the perfect person to approach.

It was now Harry’s job to make him care about his opinion.

“You know Nott, I understand why you’re upset,” Harry said, after pointing out the answer to a question about Polyjuice potions. 

“Hum?” Nott said, brushing his quill back and forth across his jawline as he worked out how he would phrase the information Harry had given him. He paused and looked up at Harry with narrowed eyes. 

“I understand why you feel the way you do about what happened,” 

“No,” Nott said, pointing his quill at Harry. “You said that I was ‘upset’. I’m not upset, I’m angry; there’s a difference,” 

“Ah, sorry! But I do understand your reaction to what happened,”

“… You do?” Nott said, sitting back on the heels of his hands and scrutinising Harry from a marginal distance. 

“Yeah! Of course! I don’t think it’s unreasonable to believe that your friend will stick to their promises,” Nott was quiet for a moment. Then, he slitted his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his body.

“Don’t badmouth Altair in front of me,” he said coldly. Harry shook his head and sat away from his books to better face Nott.

“It’s not my intention to. Rosier has been nothing but lovely to me ever since I got here. I really respect him,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I just have experience with friends not always being on my side. It hurts because they’re supposed to be the ones who believe in you no matter what. And you don’t want to forget all the times that they have been there for you or helped you out, but its hard because there’s a little voice in your head telling you that they don’t care as much as you thought they did,” 

Nott’s posture softened. Harry adjusted his glasses clumsily. 

“But they always do come around, you know. I wouldn’t worry too much, especially because it’s Rosier. It’s just… I understand how you feel, you know?” 

Nott lowered his eyes and uncrossed his arms

“I understand,” Nott flicked his eyes up at Harry and blinked at the intensity of the other boy’s green eyes. They practically glowed. “T-thank you,” he said, in a cracked voice. Harry smiled.

“No problem. We all need reassurance from time to time. I believe your reaction was warranted,” 

Nott smiled sheepishly.

“You think? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Altair would disagree,”

“As I said before, I truly respect Rosier, but I think you were just expressing yourself. He shouldn’t stop you from being you,” 

Nott nodded slowly. It looked as if Harry’s words were really sinking in. Good. 

“How about we look at Felix Felicis potions? I’m not sure on all the ingredients for them,”

Nott smiled and cracked his knuckles, reorganising his books and papers on his lap. 

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to be an expert in Felix Felicis potions!” Harry laughed.

“I’m in good hands then,” 

Nott wiggled his fingers.

“The greatest!”

Harry woke up incredibly drained. He and Nott had been up studying Potions late into the night. So late into the night, in fact, that they were the last one’s left in the common room before they thought to cast a Tempus Charm and realise that they were idiots for staying up so late. They didn’t even have Potions again until Wednesday. 

Whilst their conversation centred mainly around their homework, they developed their chat to include potions that they wish existed and stories that they had heard of people taking certain potions and their resulting ill effects after realising that they had used out of date ingredients or had just taken too much. Although, Harry let Nott do most of the storytelling as he didn’t know half as many stories as he. 

He learned that Nott was a wonderful storyteller that only needed a captive audience to be happy. So, he laughed when he should have laughed, he asked questions when he should have asked questions, and joked when it was appropriate to interrupt Nott. All in all, he went to bed feeling quite proud of himself for having such a pleasant conversation with the boy. It had been, dare he say, _easy_ to chat with him. 

Harry scrubbed his face with his palm, which was clammy and did little to best his mood. He raked his hedge of hair off of his forehead and stilled in the quiet of his bed for a moment, before raising his hand and swishing his curtains open with a non-verbal. 

His eyes strayed to his right. No Malfoy again. It was as if he didn’t want anyone to know that he existed; his bed covers were tightly fitted at the corners and he had no belongings to speak of on his side table. He packed away everything into his trunk, like he was biding his time until the end of term came around and he could leave the castle. 

It was sort of depressing to think about, so Harry tried not to and instead allowed his vision to be captured by a flickering at one of the windows behind Malfoy's four poster bed. It was, what looked like, a fish with two heads wobbling past at a jovial pace. Harry smiled. Sometimes he couldn’t tell whether the world was magical or it was just his bad eyesight.

“Good morning, Harry,” Harry turned his face back into the room to see Rosier. Rosier had gone back to packing up his satchel before bothering to check whether Harry had heard him or not. 

“Morning Rosier,” Harry sat up in bed and found his glasses on his side table.

Mulciber came striding out of the bathroom, comb running through his dark brown hair.

“Morning Mulciber,” Harry said, covering a yawn with his hand. 

“Didn’t sleep well?” Mulciber said with a smirk. 

“Sort of,” 

Harry peeled back the covers and reached down his bed to grab at his clothes. 

“You and Nott were awake late into the night. You weren’t back when we all decided to turn in. Were you together?” Rosier said, back still turned. Harry looked up and over at Nott’s bed. The curtains were still closed. 

“Yeah, we were discussing Potions homework,” Harry began to slowly rise from his bed, hoping to gauge how Rosier was feeling by getting a better vantage point of his back. 

“That was an awful long time to be discussing potions for,” Rosier commented, beginning to tie up his bag. 

“It was an awful lot of homework,” Harry rebutted, tightening his clothes closer to his chest and subtly extending his neck to see if he could catch Rosier’s face. 

Rosier turned round and gave Harry a thoughtless smile. 

“Well, Slughorn is notorious for pushing his students hard. It’s just the kind of workload you should expect if you choose Potions for your NEWTS,” Rosier said in a cheery tone. Harry dropped eye contact and sucked in a breath.

“Well, yes, I suppose-”

“Oh, would you look at this!” Rosier said, walking over to Nott’s bed and not acknowledging by _any_ means that he had just interrupted Harry. “This is so typical of Arc, getting up at the very last minute every single morning! Poor Harry, having to stay up all night with him. Not everyone can do it you know; he’s a professional night owl,” 

“Oh, it really wasn’t as bad, as you say it was. I actually like being awake at night, so it really wasn’t too difficult at all,” Harry said innocently. Rosier’s eyes crinkled but his face looked as if it were itchy and he desperately wanted to scratch it. 

“Well, that’s good,” He looked at the curtains and pulled out his wand. 

“I had better wake him up or it’ll take us forever to get down to breakfast again,” he said, lifting his arm up to plunge into the darkness of Nott’s curtains. 

“Oh, perhaps you shouldn’t!” Harry said, releasing one of his arms from around his clothes so that he could hold it out in warning. Rosier raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why not?” 

“Well, it’s just that I’m going to use the bathroom to get ready in now, and I won’t be out for about five minutes. He could probably do with the extra rest; we were up very late after all,”

“Actually, Harry, if you don’t give Arc plenty of time to wake up, he gets very irritable for the rest of the day and it actually takes him longer to get ready, if you can believe that. So, with my experience, I know to wake him up now. As I will do,” Rosier’s voice was tetchy and he let his eyes bore into Harry whilst he stuck his arm out and into Nott’s bed. 

“Ugh, I get it, I get it!” Nott said from behind the curtains. They whizzed to attention at the posts of the bed and Nott sat up amongst a tumultuous sea of blankets. His eyes noticed Harry standing at the end of his own bed with his uniform in hand. He groaned and flopped back onto the mattress with an arm flung over his eyes. 

“Altair! Couldn’t you have given me a few more minutes? Harry’s not even dressed yet! He can go first!” Rosier looked between Harry and Nott. Harry offered him a meek smile, or the polite ‘I told you so’ smile, as he liked to think of it. 

“You know that you take an age to get ready, Arc! Now sit up and take this Invigoration Draught!” Nott inched an eye open. 

“You have an Invigoration Draught?” he asked. Rosier smiled. 

“Of course I do,” he said gently, passing Nott a bottle that had been sitting on his nightstand. “You were up until all hours last night, I thought you’d need it,” 

Nott begrudgingly sat up and took the bottle from Rosier’s hands. 

“It’s also an apology,” Rosier said, lowering himself onto Nott’s bed and resting his hands in his lap. Nott’s eyes went softer and he gave Rosier a small smile before downing the potion. 

Harry, who was beginning to feel awkward just standing at the foot of his bed with a sock tickling his chin, started to make his way to the bathroom.

“Hey, Evans,” Nott ceased drinking with a strong swallow and heralded Harry as he passed his bed. 

"Alihotsy leaves, Dried billywig stings, Peppermint, Stewed Mandrake… Infusion of Wormwood, Honeywater, Vervain infusion, Scurvy grass… and…”

“Lovage,” Harry finished for him. The two boys grinned at one another.

“What in the name of Merlin was that?” Mulciber asked, from where he was perched on his bed. 

“The ingredients needed to make an Invigoration Draught,” Nott informed him, shaking his head and tutting condescendingly. Harry laughed.

“Looks like last night was worthwhile then, ay, Evans?” Nott said with a wink.

“Seems like it, Nott,” Harry said, preparing to walk away again.

“Oh hey, finish this off,” Nott said, pushing out the bottle into Harry’s pile of clothes against his chest. Harry loosened an arm hesitantly and took a hold of it. 

“You must be as tired as I am, you could probably do with some of it as well,” Nott clarified. 

“Thanks, Nott,” Harry said sweetly, before drinking the remaining contents until the consistency evolved into droplets. He removed the bottle from his lips and held it out for Nott to retrieve.

He could already feel the effects of the potion. It was really strong. Rosier must have been _very_ sorry. 

Harry looked over at Rosier, who was watching him chillingly. He suppressed a shiver and went into the bathroom at last, locking the door behind him. He leaned with his back against the door and smiled.

“How is it only September?” Nott said, tightening his scarf around his neck. Harry had one on, himself. It was Slytherin green and silver and wound quite snuggly around his throat. He had stuffed the ends into his cloak so that no sentient plants would choke him by pulling on them once he entered the greenhouse. 

“It will be a cold winter, this year, I imagine,” Lestrange commented, looking out to the parkland surrounding the castle as they made their way to Greenhouse 4, where their Herbology classes were going to be held. 

Harry was about to attend his first Herbology lesson of the year. It was also the first time he would be attending a class with so few of Riddle’s cohort. It was just Lestrange and Nott. 

Harry didn’t know much about Lestrange but he seemed the least problematic of Riddle’s friends. He was very quiet and maintained a tight discipline over his emotions. But, he was polite at least. That made it easier to deal with him. 

He must have liked Herbology, as it was he who suggested they leave breakfast early to get to the greenhouses in time. He was also the one who caught them in the common rooms and suggested they bring their scarves; it would be a bitterly cold day, he had lamented. Harry liked the fresh chill of cold morning air, but the scarf was very welcome indeed. 

He spotted, along the edges of the Greenhouses, Ogg, with a huge sack of seeds swung over his shoulder. Ogg looked behind his free shoulder, perhaps sensing eyes on him, and beamed, waving to Harry with his free hand. Harry held up a hand back. Ogg then pointed between Nott and Lestrange, presumably asking whether they were his friends. Harry nodded and Ogg made a cheesy thumbs up. 

“Oh that’s the Gamekeeper, isn’t it? What was his name again?”

“Nott, you’ve been here for six years,” Harry said, lowering his hand and giving the boy a pointed look.

“I know, I know, but I’m not exactly out tending to the shrubbery, am I?” Nott said, shaking his hands around to show Harry what shrubbery looked like. Harry huffed out a laugh. 

“Ogg, his name is Ogg,” he said, sparing Ogg one last glance. He promptly disappeared from sight around the back of one of the Greenhouses. “And he’s a lovely man,”

“Oh?” Nott said, raising an eyebrow at him. “You know him?” 

Harry looked at Nott for a moment and then crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Yeah, he let me sit in his boat when we were going across the lake. So I didn’t have to sit with the first years,”

“Oh,” Nott said, pursing his lips. “You got quite the superstar treatment, didn’t you, Evans?”

“Yeah, I suppose I did,” Harry said, uncrossing his arms. They were just outside the greenhouses now. 

Lestrange lead the way to what was Greenhouse 4, similar in all ways to the other greenhouses except for a brightly painted number 4 on the entrance. The texture of the paint looked rather slimy and both Nott and Harry crinkled their noses at it. Lestrange didn't seem to care.

Serpent-like dragon statutes sat on top of the greenhouse, all mottled with moss; both grey and green. Inside was a long table with a man standing on top of a stool, his back to the entrance, at the end of the room. Each spot on the table was dressed with a pair of gloves and an apron. Surrounding the table were plants of all types and species. Some looked rather mundane, others were practically waving at the new entrants to the greenhouse. 

“Good Morning, Professor!” Nott called out from behind Lestrange. The professor jolted and shook atop his stool. Lestrange tore through his robes to pull out his wand. He zapped out a spell to right the professor. O’Leary craned his neck so that he could see who they were. 

“Ah! Good Morning, boys. Chilly today isn’t it? I was just trying to get some heat in the place, which interestingly ties in with the lesson today!” He said, tugging on something and looking to the ceiling. The room suddenly felt warmer and some of the plants curled in delight. The professor nodded to himself with glee and stepped down from his stool, taking care not to fall. He patted down his clothes once he had made safe contact with the earth. 

He wasn’t wearing as formal an outfit as he had when Harry had last seen him. In fact, his clothes were quite simple, in the 1940s sense. An apron was tied around an cream shirt with rolled up sleeves and his waist coat and trousers were a similar brown tweed. His hair was wild, like Harry’s and just as long. No effort had been made to tame it, not the kind of effort you would expect a man in the 1940s to make. There was no gel, no swoops, no elegant lines. It was incredibly unpredictable. He did make the effort of tying it, however, with a ribbon, once he had finished dusting himself off. 

“By the way, thank you to whoever saved me from splatting on the ground, much appreciated!” he said, as he finalised a knot on his ribbon. Lestrange nodded his head but said nothing. “Do come in; get yourselves out of the cold of that entrance way!” O’Leary, beckoned them with aggressively friendly body language. 

“Let’s all sit together,” Nott said, under his breath. “And at the end of the table,” Lestrange looked at him from the corners of his eyes.

“I like the front, I want to sit there,” he said, beginning to move his feet. “Besides, it’ll be awkward if we sit at the back of the classroom when we’re the first ones here,” 

Nott had an expression of complete dismay on his face. Harry huffed out amusedly. 

“He’s got a point you know, it would be pretty awkward,” he said. Nott’s shoulders sank.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Harry joked, giving him a light pat on the shoulder. Nott shook him off and scowled. He followed Lestrange to the front of the room. Harry bit on his lip but soon did the same. 

“Lestrange, Nott, good to see you two,” he said, smiling at them both. Lestrange was the only one to replicate a smile. Then, the professor spied Harry. He kept his hands on the back of his chair, from which he had been leaning on, but pulled his body backwards so that he could see Harry better. 

“And, if I am not mistaken… you must be Mr. Harry Evans,” he said. 

“Yes sir, I am,” 

Lestrange seated himself on the right-hand side of the professor’s chair. Nott sat down beside him, begrudged. That left Harry with the seat next to Nott, which he alighted upon gratefully. His feet relaxed under the table, plants winding around the toes of his boots. 

“How are you finding Hogwarts so far Harry?” 

“I’m enjoying it, thank you professor,” O’Leary put on a rueful smile.

“I know you must’ve been asked that question so many times by now. You must be getting sick of it,” he said. Harry smiled.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been asked it plenty of times now. But I don’t mind,” Harry said, leaning his forearms on the table. 

“It’s to be expected, I suppose,” O'Leary reasoned. His face became graver the longer nobody spoke, as if he were contemplating something in his head. A sudden bunch of students stepped into the room, some wearing Slytherin robes, others wearing blue-tipped ones. What a fun class this is going to be, Harry thought.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Nott huffed. Harry blinked, he hadn’t realised he had said that out loud. 

“Good morning students! Please be seated! I have a cracking lesson for you all today, if you’ll pardon the pun!” He turned his back to them and retrieved something from the top of the room. It was a basket, covered over with a thick cloth. He placed it carefully down on the table and left his hands rest on the handles as he watched his class choose seats at random around the room. 

A Ravenclaw girl with victory rolls sat beside Harry, and smiled quickly at him before turning to chat with her friend. 

“It looks like everyone is here then,” O’Leary said, seeing the last place be filled by a boy with a crew cut from Slytherin.

“Alright everyone, I invite you all to feast yer eyes upon these magnificent beauties!” he said, unveiling his basket to reveal multiple jars of long and narrow eggs. “Now, can anyone tell me what these are?” 

Lestrange stuck up an arm immediately. 

“Lestrange?” 

“Ashwinder eggs, they’re Ashwinder eggs, sir,” 

“Very good Lestrange! Top marks,” Lestrange smiled at the professor. 

“What do ye notice about these eggs?” O'Leary asked, peering into the basket himself. 

“They’re red?” a Slytherin girl from the other side of the table spoke up. O’Leary nodded.

“Yes, yes, they are red. And ringed too,” He pointed to one of the jars and followed one of the rings on the egg with his index finger. “Two peachy sort of rings, as you can see. What else?” No one responded. He pursed his lips.

“Anyone?”

“… They’re frozen?” Harry said. O’Leary’s eyes searched for the voice in the room and upon realising that it was Harry, he beamed. 

“Absolutely right, Harry Evans! They are indeed frozen!” The members of the class looked at him, some only noticing then that the new boy was present with them. 

“It’s safest if they’re stored in charmed jars. This is because the unfrozen eggs have the rather disastrous side-effect of setting the house on fire,” He set down a jar onto the surface of the table and moved the basket onto his seat. 

“Now,” He said, picking up the jar and holding it in his hands. “These eggs are laid by an Ashwinder. I know; the clue is in the name, isn’t it? But, the Ashwinder is a what exactly?”

“A serpent born from the ashes of a dying magical fire,” A Ravenclaw girl across from Harry stated in a pleasant Scottish accent. 

“Yes, it is! Very eloquently put, Exstein! An Ashwinder can appear when a magical fire is left to go out unattended. That is why you should all be cautious not to let a magical fire be when you are going to bed for the night. These beauties,” He gestured behind him and then to the jar in his hands. “These are a result of me falling asleep in my armchair one night prematurely,” 

“Really sir?” A Slytherin boy asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“Yes. I woke up to barking coming from upstairs. When I went up to see what the problem was, I saw my dog, Sandy, barking away good-o at the broom closet, which I do incidentally keep my brooms in. Anyway, it was ajar and when I opened up the door fully, I saw, curled up on the floor, an Ashwinder, wrapped around its eggs,”

“What happened then, sir?” The Ravenclaw girl beside Harry spoke up, a quill ready in hand over a fresh sheet of parchment. 

“Well, Ashwinder’s disintegrate once they lay their eggs so, it wasn’t long for the world. The real problem was the eggs. Ashwinder eggs are incredibly hot and flammable, so you need to immediately freeze them. And keep in mind, these were in my highly flammable broom closet,” Nott was sitting on the edge of his seat, almost blocking Harry’s view of the Professor. Harry smirked. Where had all that disappointment over a pansy-like professor gone?

“I store a lot of, if not all, my magical equipment in my broom cupboard, so thankfully, what I needed was close to hand. Firstly, I put on some gloves, the very gloves in front of you now,” He gestured to the gloves on the table. “These gloves are an essential piece of equipment for any wizard. They are charmed to be inflammable and to keep you from burning your hands.

“So, after putting them on, I took out my beautiful Chestnut wand here, and performed the incantation ‘Glacius’, right here; on the centre of the egg, in between the rings,” he pointed at the spot indicated on the glass of the jar concealing the egg. 

“You then, must put them in jars, and charm them accordingly, for storage purposes.” he clinked the jar back onto the table. 

“I understand that this isn’t quite Herbology as you know it, but, I think we can all agree that this is quite important to know, lest you would like to live in a pile of ash. Besides, if you grind these up they can make for a rather mean fertiliser, although you have to be careful not to put it on any plants that don’t like the heat,” O’Leary crossed his arms and surveyed the room with narrowed eyes. He had every student captivated. 

As a dramatic man, this pleased him.

“Now, does anyone have any idea what kind of potions require Ashwinder eggs?” 

“Felix Felicis,” Nott replied, without much thought.

“That is very correct, Nott, good job!” Nott looked back at Harry and grinned. Harry grinned back.

“They also can be used in a number of different love potions, even in the strongest one of all; Amortentia. And, lucky for all of you...” O’Leary turned round and picked up the basket that had been sitting on his chair. “You will all get the opportunity to freeze these eggs for yourselves,” The basket was planted onto the table. O’Leary smirked. 

“Because I have been leaving these to thaw,”

Harry, Nott, and Lestrange walked with vigour to the Great Hall for lunch. They had spent the last two class periods learning entirely about snake eggs and even experimented with how long it took for an egg to explode into fire (contained, obviously, within a protective glass box). The answer was a measly two minutes. It made Harry never want to start a magical fire ever again. 

“Apparently, we had an Ashwinder in the house before. Mother got terribly upset by the state it made of the rugs,” Nott said, as they entered into the Grand Staircase tower which was milling with people.

“I’ve never seen one,” Lestrange admitted. “But they seem quite dangerous,”

“It is sort of strange how they literally only exist to lay eggs that will set fire to your whole house,” Harry mused.

“Yeah. Maybe they have some sort of history with witches and wizards? You know, like a wizard or witch did something to offend them?” 

“Yeah, well, I think they’re just little bastards,” Nott smoothed back a piece of hair that was beginning to tickle his eyelids. 

“Of course you would,” Harry mumbled under his breath. Nott gave him a playful push and Harry hit him back with the same mirth. 

“Arc!” A voice called from somewhere on one of the staircases. Upon raising his head, Harry could see that the voice belonged to Rosier, who was quickly descending the moving stairs having just attended a long and laborious History of Magic lesson on the first floor. 

Descending the stairs at a much slower and relaxed pace were Riddle, Mulciber, Dolohov, and Malfoy. 

“You would not believe the boredom of that class at N.E.W.T. level, I swear!” Rosier hopped off the stairs, almost prematurely, and hurried over to Nott. 

“Why’d you take it then?” Nott asked amusedly. Rosier urged him forward and slipped to his side, past Harry. 

“I could say the same for you with Herbology!” he said with a laugh, goading Nott to follow him into the Entrance Hall. Harry looked over at Lestrange and raised his eyebrows. Lestrange mirrored him and added a smile of his own. He hadn’t smiled at Harry before; that was new. 

“Good afternoon, you two,” Riddle said from behind them. 

“Afternoon, Tom. How was History of Magic?” Lestrange asked as they commenced again their journey to the Great Hall. 

“Oh, same old, same old,”

“Binns was having the time of his life today. Well, afterlife,” Mulciber had fallen to Harry’s right and Riddle had opted to walk on Harry’s left. He didn’t know what he had done to suddenly become so popular, but alright, he would take it.

“A ghost that’s a teacher, what will they think of next?” Harry said, shaking his head. Mulciber shot him a smile.

All six of them entered the Great Hall and headed for their seats. They managed to stay in formation until they needed to split to get to their sides of the table, despite the hundreds of students milling around them. The power of hanging with Riddle, Harry supposed; no one dared cross you. 

He hadn’t noticed before how many students cast glances at Riddle, hoping to catch his eye. For the most part they didn’t; Harry was sure that Riddle wouldn’t go through the bother of noticing someone unless it benefited him, but every so often, he would bless someone with his angelic, though fake, charismatic smile, and then carry on walking, knowing full well the chaos he caused in his wake. Harry was pretty sure one Ravenclaw girl spilt soup down her skirt, which had to have been embarrassing. Understandable, but embarrassing.

Avery was already seated and had a plate in front of him filled with food. Of course, Rosier and Nott were also seated by that point and were starting to load their dishes with an array of vegan-unfriendly sandwiches. 

“How was History of Magic then?” Avery asked, breaking a roll with his hands. 

“Much what you’d expect from an eternal teacher of the subject,” Riddle eased himself down onto his bench seat with grace. Harry hopped his leg over much less gracefully.

“Did you get much study done?” Riddle asked Avery, scrutinising the choice of breads and ending up with a couple of slices of sourdough. 

“Yes. Well, sort of. My sister kind of ambushed me on my way to the library. But I sorted it,”

“You and your sister are almost worse than Nott with his mother!” Mulciber jeered, before taking a bite of his whole-wheat bread.

“Leave him be Mulciber, surely his choice of bread shouldn’t offend you that much,” Harry spoke up, hoping that a bit of defence wouldn’t go astray; it was what he was good at after all.

“It’s just a fruity loaf, is that a crime?” Harry smiled. Well done Nott; you didn’t show yourself up this time!

“No, it’s not Arc. You’re perfectly allowed to have whatever bread you like,” Rosier added, his voice glinting with a sharp threat.

Riddle’s movements slowed ever so slightly and he began to focus more on the conversation than whether he would go for some vegetable soup or an oxtail number, as he had been allowing himself the luxury to do up until that point.

Harry was going to go for some vegetable soup. 

“Oh, Harry, I hadn’t realised you’d become a knight in shining armour!” Mulciber said. Harry supposed he had meant to say it lightly, as his tone would suggest, but his eyes were souring the affair. They were narrowed and hostile. 

“Well, perhaps not shining armour. Don’t think I’m that dashing,” Harry said, placing the soup ladle back in the communal pot. 

“I don’t know, maybe if you cut your hair,” Nott said, pouting his lips as he judged Harry’s appearance. Harry made a face and then dipped a spoon into his soup. 

“How was Herbology, Lestrange?” Riddle asked, doing his best to shut down any further momentum on the topic. Lestrange was silent for a moment, looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights, and then swallowed whatever he had in his mouth.

“Oh, it was rather good, actually. We studied Ashwinder eggs today. We saw them catch aflame as well,”

“Ashwinder eggs?” Riddle said. By his expression he knew exactly what they were. 

And what they were used for.

“Yeah, you know, they’re in Felix Felicis potions,” Nott began, munching down on his bread. “What was the other potion they’re used in?” he turned to Harry.

“Amortentia,” he replied softly, leaving it a moment before looking at Riddle. 

Riddle was looking squarely at him. His eyes drilled into Harry’s very brain, and he felt his heart quicken in pace. Harry looked down into the soup in front of him by instinct alone and promised to himself not to raise his eyes for the rest of lunch.

What terrifying eyes Riddle had. And they weren’t even red yet.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Amortentia,” Nott said, a finger in the air.

“Well, love potions in general use the eggs,” Lestrange said. Only then did Riddle’s eyes leave Harry’s face. 

“We all have Defence next, am I correct?” Riddle asked, pinching a chicken sandwich from the sandwich platter.

“Yes, I believe so,” Avery said, dapping at the corners of his mouth. 

“ _Wonderful_ ,” 

Harry didn’t look up to see, but he was fairly certain that Riddle was staring at him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all the people leaving lovely comments, thank you so much! By leaving your wonderful comments, you are giving me so much positivity and reassurance around my writing. Your impact on me is truly invaluable, thank you!
> 
> On a side note, I was searching through potions and their ingredients on the Harry Potter Wiki (which is insanely useful to have when writing a fic, so props to the people who compile all that information), and I happened to stumble upon Ashwinder eggs. They just seemed perfect to talk about and relate to both Nott and Riddle (Nott because he seems to know a lot about Felix Felicis potions and Riddle because... well, his existence) that I had to write about them, hence why there is a Herbology class on them. Although, I feel like it is something that Professor O'Leary would teach about regardless because he's cool like that and would definitely be clumsy enough to allow an Ashwinder to almost set fire to his whole house.
> 
> And his poor sweet dog Sandy! (Haven't decided on a breed for her yet. Suggest away, if you'd like. I might mention her again at some point, but probably not)
> 
> Anyway-
> 
> Next week, Harry has a duel and Dumbledore is conflicted.
> 
> Until next time, take care and enjoy your week!


	15. T or F?

Defence Against the Dark Arts classes were still held in good ol’ Hogwarts Turris Magnus in 1944. And, more specifically Classroom 3C. It was a classroom that Harry knew well and it was a classroom that he loved dearly. 

Professor Galatea Merrythought had held the position for many years in Hogwarts, which was quite unusual for Harry, who had a fresh new teacher each time September came around. Not that Harry would be able to experience having the same teacher twice in a row presently either, but it was still nice to be reminded that Riddle hadn’t messed with literally everything in his life.

The whole gang walked to Defence together; or rather, around each other. Rosier and Nott had paired up rather immediately, Dolohov gravitated to Lestrange, Malfoy latched himself onto Riddle (not literally; his arm might’ve been turned to actual jelly if he so much as tried), and Mulciber and Avery mutually decided to walk beside each other, rather than walk alone. That left Harry, the loner, all by himself, with only himself to keep himself company.

The doors to the classroom were held wide open, allowing plenty of air and students to flow into the room. Judging by the lapels of other students entering the room, Slytherins shared the class with Hufflepuffs. 

“Goody; Hufflepuffs,” Nott said, not too quietly, under his breath. Rosier chuckled beside him. 

Harry was taken aback; Rosier chuckling at something offensive? He wasn’t an angel by any means, but he was normally the one that chastised Nott for having a such big mouth, not actively encourage it. 

“No need to be scared, Nott! No one has forgotten the time you were beaten _spectacularly_ in that duel with Stanley Crooklinks, but that shouldn’t stop you from facing your fears!” Mulciber shouted from the back of the group. 

A couple of Hufflepuff girls who were passing by laughed in remembrance. Nott struggled against Rosier’s hold. He wanted to give Mulciber a punch right between the eyes, muggle style. 

Harry took it as an opportunity to wordlessly sting Mulciber. 

“Ow!! Who the hell stung me? Nott?!” 

“How in Morgana’s name could it have been me?! You always tell me that I’m incapable of casting wordless spells; you can’t just accuse me of doing one now!” Nott looked at Harry, without much intention behind it, and Harry gave him a brief wink. 

Nott’s facial muscles struggled to relax themselves and he turned his head to face the front so that he could avoid bursting out in a cackle. Harry was forced to suck on his own lips to prevent giving himself away to anyone else. 

The Professor was at the front of the classroom, casting a shadow on a dusted blackboard. Nothing was written on it. There was also no tables or chairs, just complete and utter empty space. Harry saw as he ventured further into the room that they had been pushed up against the walls. A Hufflepuff student poked one of the upright table legs with his finger; it sprang backwards and then forwards again, as if it were made of sponge. 

Riddle stopped at the front of a line of students that was beginning to form an arc around the teacher. Harry kept himself further back: he wanted to blend as much as he could into the shadows. 

Harry liked Defence. He liked it a lot. He hardly even needed a class on it; by this point it was pretty much his job title. That didn’t mean he wanted to go parading his skills about in front of a future Dark Lord. Or, perhaps ‘want’ was the wrong word to use; he really wanted Riddle to know what he was dealing with, but he shouldn’t. It wasn’t wise. And, if he were honest, he was sort of guiltily enjoying not having to use Defence spells all the time. He wasn’t too sure he could cast them for academic use now; he had gotten so used to needing them for practical use that it felt sort of wrong to be doing it _just_ to get an Outstanding on his N.E.W.Ts. 

“Gather ‘round everyone. Yes, that means you two in the back, don’t dawdle; we only have a single class today!” Merrythought barked caustically, made to sound doubly so by the twang of her Northern Irish accent. 

“Alright, anyone else who comes in from now on is late and therefore is liable for missing the start of my lesson. I shall not be repeating myself,” She turned around with chalk in hand and wrote up the word ‘Duelling’ on the board in a wobbly script. 

Harry’s stomach didn’t feel too comfortable, but he had only eaten vegetable soup for lunch, so it wasn’t that. 

“A wonderful way to settle you all into the new school year, I think,” her smile was genuine, which meant she truly believed in what she was saying. Great.

“I don’t care whether you partner up with a member of the same sex or not; frankly, it doesn’t matter in a duel against someone using dark magic what bits you have,” Some of the class gasped, but Harry just grinned. Maybe Defence wouldn’t be such a nightmare after all?

“All I care about is the casting of your spells. We really need to focus this year on non-verbals. They are key in a duel because the other party,” she held a finger up in the air.

“Is not expecting it,” the class droned back in response. 

“Good, good. I don’t care much whom you partner with, you can choose amongst yourselves,” She went to turn back onto her desk but then zipped her spine straight again, scrutinising the crowd. 

“Actually, is there a Harry Evans here?” she asked, still not picking his face out from the bunch. Harry swallowed and raised a tentative hand. The rest of the class turned to look at him, including Riddle and his friends.

“Ah, Harry! Come to the front, don’t be shy!” she said, leaning casually against her desk, the rolls of her pale flesh making her doubly comfortable. 

Harry weaved through the crowd and the eyes that latched onto him. He approached the woman and she indicated to him to stand to the side, in front of the class.

“Everyone, this is Harry Evans. Harry Evans, this is everyone,” she said quickly. The class (although it has to be said, it was mainly the Hufflepuff portion) chorused a greeting. 

“Harry here used to be home-schooled before coming to Hogwarts, so treat him well, alright?” The class responded kindly. Well, again, the _Hufflepuffs_ did. 

“How did your home-schooling classes teach you Defence, Harry?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further.

“Well, I learned about different dark creatures and curses, counter curses, that sort of thing,”

“Really? What about duelling?” she had her head tilted at a 45 degree angle so that Harry could count three distinct folds of fat around her neck. He focused on exhaling before answering.

“Yes… I learned how to duel,”

“You did?” she straightened her neck and nodded, processing some sort of conclusion in her head. Harry wished that she wouldn’t. 

“You know, I’m rather intrigued as to how a home-schooled child will duel. I’d imagine you must be quite advanced, what with all that one-on-one carry on,” Harry didn’t say anything. Merrythought didn’t seem to care either way.

“I wonder perhaps if you wouldn’t mind giving us a wee demonstration of a duel, would you?” she asked, tilting her head even more so now. Harry’s eyes widened.

“Ah, I’m not so sure I’d be good enough for that just yet,”

“There’s only one way to find out isn’t there?” she said, popping herself upright. 

“Alright, which one of you would like to give Harry a go, ey?” she asked, looking from person to person. Harry closed his eyes, wishing for this all to be an illusion. 

“Tom, you’d like a go?” Harry snapped his eyelids open and saw in all its horror; Riddle, with his hand in the air. 

“Yes, professor. I’m rather interested to see how a home-schooled child duels differently to one schooled in Hogwarts,” he was the image of an engaged and bright student, enamoured with the pursuit of knowledge. Merrythought was certainly fooled, as she was smiling as if he had given her a best teacher award made from pure gold.

“A duel between my best student and my dark horse? What a sensational idea!” 

“Your best-? Professor, I’m not so sure-”

“Nonsense Harry, you’re in good hands with Tom! He is very controlled; you won’t be injured. And this way, you’ll get a taste of what Hogwarts has to offer!” 

The whole class was ushered to the front of the room and Harry and Tom were placed in the centre, a good two metres away from one another. 

“Alright, the rules are simple. You need to disarm your opponent to win, that means your wand in one hand, your opponent’s in the other, alright? It’ll be a draw if it goes past 20 minutes as I want everyone to get a chance to fight today. As this is more a demonstration than an exercise, I permit you to use verbal spells if you wish, though I would strongly advise against it if you want a tactical advantage,”

Merrythought looked between the two students, who were calmly observing one another, and then stepped back all the way to the front of the room. She lifted a shield around the other students and herself. 

“Once you bow, you can start,” Harry and Tom remained still for a moment, just watching the other person. 

Harry tried to imagine Riddle as Voldemort, but found it hard to connect the two. For one, Voldemort was much taller than Riddle. Riddle, although lofty, hardly outmatched Harry in height. His build wasn’t as imposing or as sweat-inducing as Voldemort’s; he had the allure of a Grecian statue, not Frankenstein’s monster. And his eyes, whilst terrifying and intense, were not red. They were young, less hard and less full of blind hatred. 

Whilst he knew who was standing opposite him, his instincts were telling him otherwise. His instincts were not erratic or traumatised. His instincts were ready. And as he bent his upper body down in a sign of false respect, he remarked that he came into this fight already being one up on Riddle. Riddle hadn’t the experience of fighting the other party before, but Harry had.

Riddle hardly waited to fire a spell at Harry. A blast of white hot fire burst from the tip of his wand and directly at Harry’s skull. Harry leapt back and blasted a Protego, finding his feet on the floor of the classroom. 

They began to circle one another, but Harry looked lighter on his feet, as if he were in a battle. Merrythought leaned against her desk and crossed her arms.

Harry was watching Riddle’s eyes, waiting for him to give his next move away. Riddle was lost in thought, strategizing a way to disarm Harry. Harry took that as an opportunity.

He slashed his wand in a horizontal line and Riddle was frozen in place. Harry then shouted out his signature spell, Expelliarmus, and Riddle’s wand flew from his right hand to the floor. Harry tried to summon it to his open hand, but it wouldn't budge. Damn it, Riddle must have placed some sort of counter-charm on it! It was closer to Riddle than Harry, but Harry thought that maybe he would be able to get it before the jinx ran out if he sprinted. 

He was almost upon the wand when he felt the ground disappear from under him. He was thrown backwards, skirting the edge of the classroom. Riddle looked irritated by Harry and stuck a hand out to reclaim his wand. If Harry let him do that, he would lose the advantage that he had gained over Riddle. Harry looked around himself and noticed the stacked tables behind him.

Tom’s lips were in the midst of forming a spell when he was forced to duck from an incoming table. He watched it bounce behind him and then whipped his neck back around to see Harry advancing. He was going for Riddle’s wand again. 

Riddle wordlessly zipped his wand to his hand, getting serious now, and flicked it. A stunning spell shot out and Harry rolled out of its way, coming up in a crouched position on the balls of his feet. 

Another ball of flame was sent and Harry responded with a Protego. From the flames, he called out another disarming spell, but it was easily avoided. Then, Riddle tried a disarming spell of his own, which flipped Harry’s wand several feet in the air. Harry leapt to catch it, but was hit with a body binding curse for his troubles. Riddle descended upon him, giving him a smirk as he bent to pick up Harry’s wand. Harry squinted his eyes and suddenly, Riddle’s wand had fallen to Harry’s stomach. 

They looked at one another, daring the other person to move first, and then there was a flurry of action, which resulted in Harry and Riddle practically snarling at each other with the other boys’ wand locked in their grasp. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough now! Thank you very much boys!” Professor Merrythought called out, disarming the protection spell around the front of the classroom. Both boys snapped their heads towards the professor, who was walking purposefully up to them. 

“But the twenty minutes can’t be up yet?” Riddle said, frowning.

“It isn’t, but I think it best that we end it there, don’t you?” she said with a strained smile pulling on her cheeks. 

“Besides,” she plucked the wands from their hands and wiggled them against her fingers. “You weren’t supposed to swap wands, so I’m going to call this a stalemate,” Harry scoffed, and planted his hands on his hips. He was frustrated that he’d scuppered his chances of winning. 

“Everyone, partner up and start duelling. No sabotaging anyone else’s duel by shooting a ‘stray’ spell over to their opponent. Write you and your partner’s names up on the board and underline the name of the person who won. You can find a new partner after you’ve finished a match,” she dismissed the rest of the class to organise themselves into pairings with a wave of her hand. Afterwards, she looked at Harry and Tom. 

“A very good match,” she then focused on Harry “You duelled very well. I’m impressed. I was worried that you would be leagues behind the other people in the class, but I am pleasantly surprised to see that you are ahead in many aspects,” Tom flicked his eyes over to the professor, and tried his best to soften his features before she turned to look at him.

“Wonderful as always, Tom. Although it perhaps took you a wee bit longer to get used to Harry’s style than it takes you normally,” Tom looked sideways at Harry.

“He is… very skilled at adapting to circumstances,” Harry didn’t quite know where to set his eyes. He happened to notice Nott, who was stretching himself uncomfortably to catch Harry’s attention. When he did, he raised his eyebrows appreciatively, but was swiftly dealt a flurry of green sparks to the neck by an opponent who wanted his full attention. 

“Alright, here are your wands,” she placed them into their open palms. “How about you two take a rest for a moment? You can start duelling again later,” she left them with a smile and a wink and began chastising a Slytherin for using too strong a Stupefy on a Hufflepuff. 

“Your wand, what core has it got?” 

Harry looked over at Riddle. His eyebrows were furrowed and they created a very pleasant straight line of creased skin over the bridge of his nose. 

“… Phoenix feather…” Harry spoke very quietly, very breathlessly. He was nervous as to how Riddle would react. 

Riddle turned his eyes on Harry. They were a soft and curious brown and Harry couldn’t ever remember seeing them so raw before. They were glossy and shone with fragments of light coming from the windows in the classroom. 

“Phoenix feather?” Harry nodded slowly.

“… You have the same core as I do, don’t you?” 

Riddle regarded him for a moment and turned his body so that he was facing his friends. They were duelling in an energetic fashion; precise spells, complicated hexes. Just as he had taught them.

Harry believed he wouldn’t get a response, but then Riddle cleared his throat.

“I was told that there was a twin wand to this,” he looked down at the yew wand in his right hand, which naturally lead his eyes to travel upwards and onto Harry’s face, where they settled diffusedly. 

“As I was told with mine,” Harry responded, swallowing a thick lump in his throat. 

“I have heard that when you duel someone with the same wand core as your own, a Priori Incantatem can occur,” Riddle’s eyes dropped to the wand in Harry’s hand. Harry turned his own body around to face the same direction as Riddle’s and therefore shield his wand from prying eyes.

“Yes. If you cast spells simultaneously,” 

“So you’ve researched into wand cores as well then?” Harry allowed himself a glance at Riddle.

“Not wand cores specifically per say. Nor would I say researched it either,”

“Care to elaborate?” Harry huffed out a breath.

“I’ve witnessed one before,”

“Really? What was it like?” Riddle took a step closer to Harry. Harry could smell his cologne; spicy, smoky, and citrusy.

“It-it was nice. I mean- it was very intense! It- um,” Harry paused to centre himself. Merlin, what was his problem? 

“The wands sort of connected. And it was gold, just a pure gold line between the two wands. Then, all these gold little strings came flying off the line connecting the wands and this cage of golden… light surrounded the casters. They even levitated from the ground. It was… electric,” Harry suddenly felt drained; as if he had relived Little Hangleton graveyard all over again.

“Interesting,” Riddle said, mostly to himself. Harry was too exhausted to even worry about the contained excitement in his voice.

“Evans, could I speak with you after class for a moment?” Dumbledore asked from his elevated desk at the top of Classroom 1B, focusing on a curling piece of parchment in front of him all the while. 

“Of course, sir,” Harry responded, chucking his Transfiguration textbooks into his satchel. 

“What heinous crime could you possibly have committed to be called up by Dumbledore after class?” Nott said, leaning his chair on its back legs and craning his neck around so that he could look at Harry properly. He supported himself with a well placed hand on Harry’s table. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe its because I’m hanging around you lot?” Harry said, in a mocking tone. Nott nodded and looked to Rosier packing up beside him. 

“Could actually be that, you know,” 

“Probably is,” Rosier admitted, sparing Harry a glance. 

“Merlin's trousers, I was only joking! I’m sure he’s just asking for that card back again,” Harry said, rising from his chair. 

“Sure you don’t want me to whip up a quick fake one to give to him instead?” Nott inquired, filling his own bag with educational goodies.

“Firstly, he probably heard that, secondly, it’s probably charmed or something so that you can’t replicate it, and thirdly, no. Just, no,” 

“Alright, it’s your loss. Don’t tell me I don’t help you,” Nott stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Yes, thank you for your efforts in leading me astray, Nott,”

“I prefer ‘creating a healthy distaste for authority’,”

“Alright, thanks for _that_ then Nott,”

“You are _so_ welcome Evans,” Nott flashed him a grin. Rosier coughed into his fist. 

“Alright, we’ll see you at dinner,”

“See you there,” Harry waved the two of them away, though Nott was the only one who really appreciated it. 

“Harry,” Harry’s attention was grabbed by Dumbledore, who was looking at him over his half-moon spectacles. The blue of his eyes swirled in thought. Harry hesitantly pursued the walkway up to Dumbledore’s desk and climbed up on the platform to stop in front of it. 

“Hello, professor,”

“How are you doing, my boy?” he asked, settling his parchment down. Harry couldn’t help but peek at what it was. Oh, that student was not going to be happy with their result _at all!_

“Well, professor. Thank you for asking,” Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled in a smile that began to wane almost as soon as it was put on his face.

“Ah, professor!” Harry dug a hand into his satchel and pulled out Dumbledore’s Hogwarts card. “This is yours,” 

Dumbledore opened his mouth slightly and squinted down his nose at what was in Harry’s hand before he reached out to take it.

“Ah, thank you Harry,”

“No, thank you, sir. I don’t know what I would have done if it weren’t for your generosity that day,” Harry finished with a solemn smile. Dumbledore returned it, but seemed to search Harry’s face for something. Harry couldn’t possibly think of what. 

“I see that you’re close with Mr. Nott and Mr. Rosier?” Harry had actually been sitting beside Dolohov as well, but they hadn’t spoken before, during, or after the lesson. Not that Harry hadn’t tried. 

“I suppose so, sir. We _are_ roommates now after all,” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at that. 

“Roommates?”

“Yes sir,” Dumbledore hollowed his cheeks to let out an enormous breath.

“Was this your decision?” Harry squeezed his hands together and looked off to the side.

“Not really. Riddle just said that I’d be bunking with them,” Dumbledore slowly removed his glasses and folded them up on the table.

“And how are they treating you?” Harry blinked.

“Um, well, I suppose, sir,” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and searched Harry for any lies.

“I’m happy where I am sir; there is no need to worry about me,” Dumbledore smiled slightly.

“Of course,” he moved forward again and cleared his throat as he straightened in his chair. “Of course, Harry. I am just a cautious old man,” he chuckled.

“Oh, not that old, sir!” Dumbledore blinked at Harry and then let out an amused huff of air. His eyes, which momentarily had strayed, joined up with Harry’s again. Harry furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Is everything alright sir?” Dumbledore shook his head after a moment, clearing out the cobwebs. 

“Of course! Why wouldn’t it be?” he picked up his glasses again and put them on after two failed attempts to get them to sit properly on his nose. Once they had been deposited on his face, he looked back up at Harry as if he were invading a private moment.

“Well, go on; you must be starving! Enjoy your dinner. I believe the house elves are cooking Steak and Kidney pie tonight,” he grinned and turned back to his documents. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not going to dinner, professor?” Dumbledore lifted a hand but not his head, which was trying to decide whether this student had written an ‘f’ or a ‘t’.

“No, papers to correct. I’ll get something from the kitchens later on,” An ‘f’, it was definitely an ‘f’. Harry chewed on his lower lip but nodded and turned around. Dumbledore spared a glance at his retreating back, debating whether he should say what he wanted to say and how he would say it if he did. 

When Harry was at the door, Dumbledore’s voice echoed down the room:

“You know Harry, you’re a very hard man to track down,” 

Harry’s extended hand stilled. He turned around. Dumbledore was perched like a vulture on a throne at the top of the room, his blue eyes crystal clear even from a distance.

“Pardon, sir?”

“Your family; you told me they were killed in an ambush by Grindelwald’s men. But I just can’t seem to find any Evans in our records. And neither can I find any tutors assigned to any Evans’. It is rather peculiar,” Harry could see a glint zip around Dumbledore’s eyes. He opened his mouth and then closed it. 

Shit, his mind was blank.

How could he not have expected this at some point? That, at some bloody point, someone would care enough to delve into his ‘past’. What could he even say? What should he even say? He should have spent that night in the Leaky Cauldron more lucratively than getting an extra few z’s! He should’ve prepared for this from the get go!

Though, to be fair, he had been tired beyond comprehension of even the English language by the time he had gotten back from shopping for schools supplies. He had almost ordered a ‘Fake and Sidney pie’, whatever that would have been. So, perhaps it was best he didn’t make any plans, because they probably would only have made sense on that night. 

But to not think of anything since, that had been careless and terribly, _terribly_ , naïve. 

“I- I don’t know what to tell you, sir. My family was very… unorthodox,” Harry was afraid to even raise his eyes. He felt as if he had made a mistake the moment he stopped talking.

“I see… No matter, Harry. These things happen. I’m sure I will find something in the future,” Harry nodded and took the opportunity of what seemed like a dismissal to get to the Great Hall and away from Dumbledore as quickly as possible.

It was a feeling that he had never, ever thought he would associate with Dumbledore.

And that made him feel worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, hello there! It's been another week of 2020! We got through it, yay! 
> 
> So, Dumbledore is a bit wary of Harry. Which is fair, because he can't seem to find anything on Harry's background. Could Harry be a spy? Is he actually a bad person, to willingly hang out with the antichrist? How on earth will Harry di*spell* these rumours? Stay tuned to find out *wink*.
> 
> Seriously though, I feel like Harry's situation is weird, most of all to Harry, and he has been in sort of in a starry-eyed state up until this point (if you'll pardon the pun). Not too long ago, he was in a cell, believing that the world as he knew it was over and nothing would ever be alright again. And now, he has been freed to actually go outside and live his life again. I think its fair to say that he's been a bit disorientated as to what is going on and has been doing his best to get by and sabotage Riddle at the same time. He is living a dream come true, after all. I think now is an appropriate time for reality to really hit home and for him to realise that this is his life now, not just some dream. And real life, _that_ has consequences... which will lead us on to our chapter next week...
> 
> This chapter felt sort of short to me, despite it being over 4000 words, but next week's chapter; pretty spicy. Lots of flavours in next week's chapter. We've got excitement, friendship, jealousy, and the big one- DRAMA. Harry gets back on a broom, is cursed and (surprise, surprise) is confused. 
> 
> Until then, take care!
> 
> Ps. Sandy is an Irish Setter. Fits her vibe. 
> 
> She likes pina coladas, getting caught in the rain, the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne.  
> (Jk, O'Leary is a responsible pet owner; he doesn't give alcohol to his dog. I promise)
> 
> Thanks libraryrocker for the suggestion!


	16. Once, Twice, Seven times a Rainbow

Harry didn’t have many hobbies in life. Growing up, he was never really allowed to be good at anything, unless you counted being a ‘nuisance’ and servant as something to be good at. Once he joined the wizarding world, he was suddenly good at something that he couldn’t even _remember_ doing. The first and only thing that he truly did, just for the fun of it, was Quidditch. 

Being on a broom was one of the only things he knew that he really, really enjoyed doing. So, despite a little voice in his head telling him that maybe this wasn’t the best idea that he had ever had (it sounded a bit like Hermione’s nagging timbre), he was standing on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch on a gloriously sunny Thursday afternoon amongst a crop of greenhorns wearing a green and silver ensemble. 

“Welcome all, welcome!” Avery called out from atop his broom. A Sonorous amplified his voice to the stands above, where Nott, Rosier, Mulciber, and Lestrange had come to watch the try-outs. 

“Wonderful to see so few fresh faces; makes my job choosing who’s going to be on the team a whole lot easier!” Nott could be heard cackling from the stands. 

He wasn’t wrong, though. Only a handful of second years had bothered to come along, as with the older years. There was only a girl from third year and a boy from fifth. 

“Our wonderful house team is up in the stalls as you can see, and they’ll be helping me choose who is in and who is out,” he extended an arm behind him to where a tight gathering of eight people wearing Quidditch uniforms sat with their brooms propped up beside them. Some of them must have been reserves. 

Dolohov, surprisingly, was amongst them. It made sense, Harry supposed. The boy was buff alright. Out of all of Riddle’s group, he was by far the stockiest, followed by Mulciber. He had to be a Beater for sure. 

“How about we all say our names and what position we’re trying out for?” Avery slid off his broom and landed neatly on the ground. 

“I’ll go first,” he pointed to his chest with splayed fingers. “My name is Malum Avery. I am the captain of this fine ship and I am a Chaser,” 

“How about you go next?” Avery said, pointing to the first year on the opposite end of the line to where Harry was. Which meant that Harry would be the last to speak. Fantastic.

“And finally-“ Avery raised his eyebrows at Harry after passing through the entire line up. Harry split his face into a smile.

“I’m Harry Evans and I’d like to try out for the position of Seeker,” 

“Ah! You hear that Neil? Better watch out; Harry’s going for your spot!” A boy with cropped black hair sat up in the stands, pinpointed Harry, and narrowed his eyes into vicious slits. 

“Don’t say that, I’m not going for anyone’s spot!”

“Too late, I’ve riled him up! Gosh, I’m looking forward to your try-out even more now!”

The other witches and wizards trying-out were slumped like potato sacks over the benches beside the pitch. Avery hadn’t held back in making their lives hell. 

He started with the second years, as they were intent on becoming Chasers. They were shaky in the knees, so he told them not to worry; they didn’t 'need knees to play Quidditch'. Of course, this did more harm than good and one of the second years toppled from their broom before reaching even their own standing height in the air. Avery gave the boy a second chance, but it wasn’t much use, as he fell as soon as he got to the centre of the stadium field. 

He was benched for his own safety.

The two remaining second years were left to circle around the pitch, passing a Quaffle to one another for a few moments to get the feel of the ball in their hands. Next, Avery lead them to a hoop, where they were instructed to score past the resident Slytherin Keeper. He was a strong, stocky chap and didn’t hold back as he stopped Quaffle after Quaffle from passing through the hoops. It was only when the red headed girl slipped past him and dunked in a goal that Avery decided the next step was necessary. Bludgers.

Avery called over Dolohov as a safety measure and unleashed two shiny black Bludgers into the pitch. He instructed the girls to dodge the Bludgers and continue attempting to score.

Needless to say, it did not go terribly well.

After they returned shakily to the earth, the boy trying out for the position of Beater was called up. He was doing very well, protecting Avery as he practised scoring against the Slytherin Keeper, until Dolohov was enlisted again to thwart the fifth year’s efforts. He did hold out for longer than Harry was expecting though, so he showed a lot of promise. 

The final contestant, excluding Harry, wanted to try-out as a Keeper. She was quite nifty on a broom and did an excellent job, defending 7 out of 10 Quaffles being thrown at her. And Avery was actually trying on all of them. Avery called in the other Chasers to make it harder for her to keep up, but her odds of success were only marginally lower. She’d be a Keeper, alright. 

“Alright, Harry, time to show us what you’ve got!” Avery shouted from his broom in the sky. Harry had been loaned a rickety specimen by Avery. He had said that it was in the Quidditch team reserve pile and, whilst not high-end, was a relatively reliable stead. Harry just hoped it could fly. 

Harry lifted a leg and pushed up from the ground, soaring high above the grass below and diving into a loop. Oh yes, this broom would do just nicely.

“Alright, enough fun and games!” Avery called out. Harry gave him a wink as he finished a perfect figure of eight. “Neil, you had better come onto the field and teach him who the real Seeker is!”

Neil huffed up from his bench seat, and whilst Avery had meant the jibe as a joke, this Neil fellow really seemed to take Harry’s intention to become a Seeker personally. He bumped into Harry as he passed him on the pitch, making his way down to Avery. Harry stuck out his tongue belatedly. 

“Good luck Evans!” Nott called out from his place in the stands. Harry twirled around and held up a hand. Then, he descended to join Neil hovering above the ground in front of Avery.

“Now,” Avery said as he unlatched the Snitch. It unfolded its wings and shook itself awake. “The rules are simple. I’m going to release the Snitch, you are both going to close your eyes for ten seconds, then you are going to try and find the Snitch and first one to find it… I don’t know... I'll be very happy with them. Alright?” 

“Understood,” Harry said. Neil gave him a dirty look.

“Alright, close your eyes in three, two, one-”

Harry had been circling around the pitch for a few minutes now. The Snitch was somewhere around them, but he hadn’t seen the slightest trace of where it had gone. Neil was somewhere close to him, but Harry was trying not to catch his eyes. Anytime he did, he was gifted with an ugly scowl. 

He lazily pushed the broom forward, hoping that he might see a flash of gold somewhere on the grass below. 

“Ah!” Neil darted past Harry’s left side so quickly that Harry had to rotate himself to avoid being knocked off his broom. He scrunched up his nose, but shook off as much irritation as he could manage. 

He thought that Neil could’ve been bluffing; he hadn’t seen anything where Neil was flying, but he thought it best to follow him regardless. He didn’t rush; he enjoyed the brush of wind through his hair as he snaked down through the atmosphere. He kept his vision peeled as he descended. 

There! 

So, Neil had been right after all! He was intently following the Snitch, close enough to stretch out and catch it. Shit.

Harry turned his broom in an arc and began circling around to catch the Snitch from the opposite direction. He bit his lip, wishing for the ball to remain out of Neil’s reach until he had a chance to grab it. He noticed Neil lean forward and take a swipe. He missed and instead blew the Snitch to the side, shocking it to leap further forward. 

Harry controlled his breathing and singled his vision onto the golden orb flitting towards him. Neil had begun to notice that he was approaching and tightened his grip on his broom. The Snitch was nervous, moving about erratically; perhaps sensing the charged atmosphere on the pitch.

Harry was vaguely aware of a commotion on the benches down below them, but he blocked it out, fixated on the Snitch. Closer and closer it flew and faster and faster charged Harry. Neil was beginning to look flustered, but to his credit, he remained on his line. 

The distance between Harry and the Snitch was rapidly closing, but that also meant that Neil was getting dangerously close. Neil had stopped trying to reach out for the Snitch and was instead far more focused on the Harry mere metres in front of his broom that had a crazed purpose in his eyes. Neil had to stay true to his course. He couldn’t stop, or he’d forfeit the win. 

The Snitch trembled between both parties. It felt the air mount in pressure as it recognised the presence of Harry’s broom. Panicked, it jerked upwards. And straight into Harry’s right hand. 

Neil’s broom zoomed to the ground so quickly that he very nearly toppled off it. He strained to calm the broom and braked about three feet from the ground. He huffed out a breath and suddenly the sweat on his neck felt unbearable and close. He looked up into the clouds above and disciplined his breath to be even again. 

He turned his broom around and saw Harry still suspended in the air. Gold glittered between his fingers. 

Harry settled his chest and looked down. All the students trying-out for the team were off the benches they were slumped against before and they had stars in their eyes. 

Harry heard a whooping sound from the spectators' benches. Nott was bent over the safety barrier of his row and had his hands cupped over his mouth. When he noticed Harry looking at him, he waved his arm enthusiastically.

“Well done, Evans! That was so cool!” Harry laughed and waved back with a massive grin on his face. Gosh, this was the happiest he had felt in a long time. He was probably happy enough to cast a Patronus if he wanted to. 

He tilted his broom downwards and glided through the silken air. Avery was standing on the edge of the pitch with the fingers of his left hand flexed around his upright broom. He had an incredulous expression on his face. 

“Merlin’s trousers, Evans! Where did that come from?” 

“I like Quidditch,”

“You’d better bloody well like Quidditch if you have skills like that!” Avery clapped him on the shoulder. He held out a hand and Harry placed the Snitch in it with care. Avery turned away so that he could secure it back in its place.

“Hey, Evans!” Harry turned around. Neil was pacing towards him with a murderous look in his eyes. Harry braced himself for impact.

Neil pushed him forcefully, making him stumble backwards but not fall over. 

“Woah, woah, woah, Lament! What do you think you’re doing?” Avery stuck out both hands to act as a buffer between Neil and Harry. Neil struggled against the pressure of Avery’s hand and was ultimately pushed back. He glared at Avery and then turned his glare to Harry, extending a menacing, well-manicured finger. 

“He almost killed me!”

“No he didn’t, Lament,” Harry remained silent.

“He would’ve crashed into me!” 

“No, he wouldn’t have Lament!” Avery stepped in between them then and stood up close into Neil’s face. 

“Calm down; you’re making a scene,” Neil looked around himself and then back to Avery. He lowered his eyes in surrender and took a step back. Avery turned his body to the side so that he could address Harry.

“Well, congratulations, Evans; you’re on the team. And a first stringer at that- today’s your lucky day,” Neil took a step forwards and twisted his face in protest. Avery held up a hand.

“Neil, before you say anything, I would like to remind you that I am the captain of this team; not you,” He glanced at Harry.

“Besides, I think both you and I know that he is leagues ahead of you right now,” Neil seethed, his nostrils flaring. Avery landed a sympathetic pat onto his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry; the benches are lovely and warm,” 

Harry was sent a dirty look when Avery left, but otherwise, he wasn’t confronted again. 

Harry, a Seeker: things were really starting to look up! True, it may have be for Slytherin and not Gryffindor, and true, he may have made an enemy in the team already, but beggars can't always be choosers. Overall, this was a massive win. 

Nott burst onto the pitch with Rosier, Mulciber, and Lestrange in tow. As he watched Nott run towards him, Harry was forced to agree with himself. 

Things really _were_ starting to look up.

After Harry’s spectacular display of talents at the Quidditch try-outs and his subsequent recruitment to the main team, Nott started to hang around Harry a lot more. Harry, of course, welcomed this and made sure to make Nott feel happy to be in his company. Harry could really see some promise in their relationship, and more importantly, Nott was beginning to see the cracks in his relationship with Rosier that he so desperately wanted to ignore before. Weak excuses could only plaster up so much, after all. 

Over the weekend, they spent a lot of time together and Harry had even managed to steal him away from the main group once in a while for some alone time. He could tell that Rosier hated their increased intimacy. Before, Nott would have followed Rosier like a puppy and watch whilst his friend was torn away from him right before his very eyes. At least Harry had the decency to do the tearing part in private.

So, on the Monday morning of his third week at Hogwarts, Harry was beginning to feel pretty good about himself. There was a sprite in his step when he jumped out of bed in the morning and he looked positively on the day before it had even begun. Nott’s curtains were still firmly shut, but Harry didn’t think they were so far in their relationship yet that Harry could be the one waking him. 

Once he had finished getting ready in the bathroom, he moved out into the room to fill his satchel with his Charms books and some Transfiguration notes for the study period that he had afterwards. Nott was sitting up in bed and brightened when he saw Harry. 

“Morning Evans,” 

“Morning Nott. Sleep well?”

“Oh yeah; like I had been charmed,” he replied, yawning. 

“Charmed?” Harry raised his eyebrows at Nott over his shoulder and Nott lifted his eyes skyward- or rather, to ground-level. 

“Ha ha, yes, we have Charms this morning. Thank you for reminding me,” 

Nott whisked the bedcovers off his legs with a flourish and stepped out into furry slippers. It seemed everyone but Harry had slippers. Whilst it was no doubt a way for them to show how classy they were, it was an intelligent move on their part as the dungeon floor was freezing in the morning. 

Nott hid himself away in the bathroom only to emerge from his chrysalis moments later. He was very quick to get ready under time pressure and most definitely sped the process up with the heavy aide of magic. 

He walked over to his bag and slid a hand in, rummaging through the items and ticking them off in a mental checklist. Harry saw him mouth something and then furrow his eyebrows in confusion. 

“What’s the matter, Nott?” Rosier looked up, following Harry’s enquiry, from the novel he was reading on his bed and searched Nott with his eyes to diagnose his ailment.

“My quill,” he said sadly, doublechecking the contents of his bag. “It’s not in here,”

“Have you doublechecked?” Rosier asked. Nott gave him a pointed look.

“Triplechecked?” Mulciber asked, leaning against his bedpost and looking utterly fed up of waiting for his lazy roommates to be ready. Nott groaned and scratched behind his ear. 

“If you can’t find it, then; here,” Harry extended an arm across the distance of their beds with a quill laced in between his fingers. Harry didn’t have many quills to spare, but he couldn’t pass up an opportunity such as this. 

Nott looked from him to the quill with a softened expression on his face.

“Go on, you need a quill, and I have a spare. My arm is starting to hurt, please take it,” Nott slowly reached out a hand and clasped the quill by the feather. 

“Harry, you don’t have to do that. I can get him one-"

“Oh it’s no hinderance to me. I appreciate your concern, but you mustn’t have many quills left at this stage, if Nott’s taken as many as you say he has,”

“Hey! I’ve not taken that many!”

“All I’m saying is that I have plenty spare, I don’t mind giving him one of mine. Share the load, you know,” Harry gave Rosier a friendly smile. Rosier tried to imitate it, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Mulciber read the faces his roommates and then detached himself from the bed post he had been leaning on.

“Alright, let’s head down for breakfast,” he raised his voice just loud enough that the other three people in the room jumped. Harry could swear that his voice remained ringing around his skull long after Mulciber had spoken. 

Harry heaved violet sludge from his mouth into a bucket he had hastily transfigured from a one of his spare socks. Afterwards, he leant his head back against the stone wall of the bathroom to try and soak up any of the cold that it would offer him. His jacket had been thrown to a corner towards the door and his V-neck pullover was half off him. Once he was sure the wave had passed, he weakly laid the bucket on the floor beside him and tugged the pullover off by the hem around his neck, shirking it off his other arm. 

Harry had been vomiting the colours of the rainbow for the past hour or so. 

He went to Charms after breakfast and had enjoyed a rather interesting lesson on cleaning charms. He had even managed to communicate with Nott, despite being at opposite ends of the classroom. They made faces at one another when the teacher decided to show them how a particular cleaning spell worked by using it on a **stone wall**. The result was a bubbly wall that looked hardly any different once it dried. The class sort of made a silent pact not to speak of it, but Harry was pretty sure the Professor herself knew that she had made a gross error. Harry also got progress reports from Nott of each charm he cast, via his facial expressions. 

When the class ended, Harry was in a state of contentment. Nott came up to his desk with Rosier trailing behind him and they had an enjoyable back and forth before Nott and Rosier had to bid him farewell to leave for Arithmancy (which Harry was convinced Nott only did because Rosier was doing it). 

Harry was just about to head down the stairs to the first floor when he felt a hook lurch in his stomach. A nausea that reached his head coursed through his body and it took all of Harry’s strength not to topple to over. He did his best to descend the stairs but was forced to pull into one of the bathrooms on the first floor to vomit red slush. 

At first he panicked, believing that he had vomited blood, but another bout hit him directly afterwards and he vomited up orange slush instead. By the time he chucked up yellow, he had a pretty good idea that he had been enchanted. 

It was a long and tiresome journey, but Harry had managed to reach the dorm rooms. He was sweating profusely and the only thing between him and sleep was the violent lurching of his stomach making it impossible to relax. Harry didn’t even know what time it was. He gulped a breath of foul tasting air and dug into his pocket for his wand. 

It should’ve been towards the end of lunch, according to his Tempus. He’d been sick for that long? He closed his eyes, wondering if another wave was coming. Perhaps he should go to the Hospital Wing now? If he could make it. 

Oh, yep; that was definitely another wave brewing.

“Evans? What are you doing- Oh Merlin!” Red sludge passed through Harry lips and he curled around the bucket to make sure he didn’t spill any of it. It would make his day even worse if he got a red vomit stain on his shirt. 

He felt a steady, strong hand on his shoulder. It moved onto his back and patted him. 

“Merlin's beard! What’s going on Evans?” Harry felt a tear force itself past his clamped eyes. He blinked it away and lifted his head to see who was kneeling beside him.

Nott. It was Nott. He looked… worried? 

“Nott?” Harry’s voice wobbled as he spoke. He groaned. Another wave.

The hand returned to rubbing his back, more erratically this time, as Harry vomited orange. Harry swallowed after he had finished and cringed at the taste in his mouth. He breathed out into the bucket and raised his head, meeting Nott’s concerned eyes.

“Hi, Nott,”

“Evans, what’s going on?” Harry groaned.

“I don’t know,”

“You don’t know? You must know something; you’re the one vomiting into a bucket!”

“It’s not my fault, someone’s charmed me or poisoned me. I don’t really know which one. All I know is that I’ve been vomiting all the colours of the bloody rainbow for the past hour or so,” Nott’s eyes flicked to the bucket on Harry’s lap. His nose scrunched up slightly. 

“Sorry,”

“Sorry? Why on earth are you saying sorry Evans?” 

“Well, I’m vomiting in a bucket. It’s not a very pleasant image, or smell for that matter,” Nott pulled back slightly, his hand slacking on Harry’s shoulder.

“Oh… well I suppose it’s not very pleasant,” Nott paused and looked at the bucket again. “But it’s hardly your fault,” 

Harry stared at Nott for a moment and then shut his eyelids, leaving out a huff of air. 

“I’m so tired,”

“Are you thirsty?” 

“A little,”

“I can get you some water,”

Harry bent over the bucket again and Nott started rubbing slow circles into his back. 

“When did this start?” Nott asked, when he was sure Harry had gotten through the worst of it.

“After you left for Arithmancy,” Harry said in between gulps for air. “I was about to go down to the library to study for my free period and I felt nauseous,” 

“Really? Did someone help you back here?” 

“No, I came back by myself,” 

“What?! In this state?” Harry nodded silently. Nott scoffed.

“I thought it was strange when you didn’t show up for lunch,” Harry slowly rose his eyes to look at Nott. 

“You- you… Did you come looking for me?” Nott huffed and sat back against the wall, beside Harry. 

“Well, yes. I did,” Harry straightened his head to try and calm his mind. “I thought it was a bit strange that you weren’t there. No one seemed to know where you were; Lestrange said he hadn’t seen you in the library. I just thought I’d check the common room. And then the dorm room,” 

Harry smiled and struggled to stop the welling in his eyes. In his defence, he’d been chucking into a bucket all by himself for the past hour; he was a little emotional by this point. 

“Thank you,” It was quiet, but he knew that Nott had heard it by the little bump he gave to Harry’s shoulder. 

The movement was enough to set Harry’s stomach off again.

“When I came in here first, I thought you vomiting blood,” Harry’s shoulders shook with laughter, but no sound came out. Nott grinned.

“What! I seriously did!”

“Yeah, I can see how you would have thought that. I thought that myself the first time,” Nott went silent for a moment.

“How many cycles have you gone through?” 

“What?” 

“Cycles. Cycles of colours, that is. How many have you gone through?” 

“What, you mean like how many rainbows have I gone through?” 

“Yes, you idiot,” Nott said, shoving his shoulder playfully. When Nott called you an idiot, you knew you were in trouble. 

“This is my fifth one now, I think,” 

“Seven colours in a rainbow…” Harry looked over at Nott with a deflated expression on his face.

“Are you telling me that I have to get through two more rainbows of this stuff!” he lifted the bucket, just in case he didn’t know what he was talking about. Nott shrugged.

“It seems a pretty juvenile curse. Unpleasant of course, but rainbows? It’s likely that it’ll have a mindless rule such as that,” 

“Are you sure?” Harry leaned his head back against the wall. Nott did the same. 

“I’m afraid so. It sounds like the kind of thing growing up that I would have done to-“ Nott paused and snapped his head off the wall. He turned toward the door.

“What?” Nott stilled and relaxed his back against the wall again. 

“Just thinking… it’s nothing,” Nott robotically put his head back onto the stone behind him. Harry presumed that he was thinking the same thing as he. 

Harry had had more than enough time to mull over who could have done this to him. At about the third time he had seen red exit his mouth, he had come to the conclusion that Rosier was responsible.  
It had to be Rosier. Who else would bother? It was meant to deliver a message. Harry and Nott had been very chummy recently and Harry knew that Rosier was a jealous person. Something like this was probably inevitable.

Harry had thought it strange how close Rosier had stuck to him when they left the Charms classroom, and how he had said goodbye kindly to Harry like he meant it. This curse wasn’t a death wish, it was just a warning. A warning small enough not to warrant a hospital stay but big enough to make it obvious that more unpleasantness lay ahead of him if Nott and he continued to nurture a relationship. If it weren’t for Nott skipping out at lunch to check the dorms, no one would even have known he was ill. They would have just thought he was an irresponsible, reprehensible student that voluntarily missed classes. He wasn’t sure if they would even appreciate his excuses. Especially because of who they were and what they stood for.

Nott bit his lip as Harry’s body racked with nausea and his face dipped into the confines of the bucket. The contents were starting to pile up now and the bucket felt weighted against Harry’s thighs. Nott pulled out his wand and levitated a clean towel onto his lap from a shelf up above. He transformed it into a goblet and stood up to use the sink. Water flowed over the rim and into the body of the goblet. After it was adequately filled, he tapped its side and murmured something.

“Water purifying charm,” he explained, to soften the confused expression on Harry’s face. “We learned it in Charms this morning, remember?” he made his way back over to Harry and guided the cup into Harry’s waiting hand. Harry gulped it down like a man lost in the desert would. 

“They class it as a cleaning charm, which I’m not sure I agree with,”

“Tastes pretty clean to me,” Harry said, gasping for breath after his chugging. Nott chuckled and lent his head back onto the wall. 

“You’re wel-” A bell chimed through the ceiling. Lunch was over. They had Potions now. 

Harry clinked the goblet to the floor and left out an exhale. 

“You’d better go. We’re already in the dungeons, you could still make it on time,” Nott stared at Harry’s knees. Harry looked at them, to check if there was something atypical about them. There wasn't, so Harry just looked back at Nott with confusion in his face. 

“You’re probably right,” Nott heaved a dramatic sigh and settled himself into a more comfortable position against the wall. 

“… Um, I’m sorry; what’s happening?” Nott just sniffed and looked at Harry casually, as if they were in the lunch hall discussing the finer details of hair potions. He looked down at Harry’s bucket and then back to his face.

“I could make it to Potions. If I wanted to,” 

“Then, I take it you don’t want to?” 

“No, not really,”

“Why?” Harry searched Nott’s face for any clues, any clarity at all. Nott scrunched his eyes, a twinkle dancing along the iris. 

“Well, I’d imagine it’ll be quite boring. I heard that we were supposed to tackle health potions today,” he cringed (which Harry grinned at), but quickly composed himself enough to speak again. “I’d reckon it would be so much more entertaining to watch you hurl your guts out for the next hour or so,” 

Harry pulled a face.

“You think _this_ is what my guts look like?” 

“That’s what you found at fault with that sentence?” The two descended into laughter, and laughed even harder when the vibrations of the glee sloshed the contents of the bucket in a worrying fashion, almost onto Harry’s trousers.

Of course, it was only funny for a moment to Harry, as the agitation of his stomach muscles brought on another wave on nausea.

“See? Much more entertaining!” Nott said, rubbing circles into Harry’s back. 

“You could go to Potions and learn about an antidote for this,” Harry said weakly. Nott considered it and Harry found a pang of worry deep within his heart that he _would_ be left alone to vomit, despite the soundness of his mumblings.

“Nahhhh…” Nott waved his wand and the sludge in the bucket completely vanished. “Why would you need an antidote when I’m so good at cleaning spells?” 

Rosier hurried along the Slytherin dungeon’s corridor and to the entrance of the common room. He was followed by everyone in Riddle’s group, bar Dolohov. Sweat was starting to build under his pullover and his shirt underneath felt slightly damp. He ran his handkerchief embroidered with his initials over his forehead, which was beginning to feel uncomfortable and hot. He was grateful that it was Potions he had just had and not Transfiguration or some other subject as far afield. This way, he could eliminate the common room from his Nott search.

He pre-emptively called the common room password out and barrelled his way into the room. He froze as soon as he entered its confines.

“He cheated though, I can assure you. He most definitely threw a jinx before the duel had even started. Here! I can show you! He left a scar!”

“Oh wow, that looks nasty,”

“Thank you! Finally! Someone who appreciates it!”

Seated on a couch facing the entrance by the fire with their legs tucked up under them and sharing a blanket, was Harry and Nott. They were close and facing each other, completely comfortable in the way one only gets when they’ve been sitting that way for a while. And they were smiling at one another, laughing. Nott didn’t normally laugh that much with other people; _at_ them maybe, but hardly ever _with_ them. 

“Arc!” Nott turned his head as if he were chasing up a distraction and realised belatedly that it was Rosier who had called him. 

“Oh, Altair. Hello,” Rosier’s eyebrows lynched together.

Rosier marched up to tower over them and do his best to cast a shadow on the proceedings taking place on the couch. Unfortunately for him, the lighting wasn’t quite right for that and his shadow fell to his side instead. 

“Is this where you’ve been for the past hour? Skipping class with Evans?” Harry’s eyes flicked over to the entrance of the common room. He saw Riddle and his gang approaching. What the hell were they doing there? They were supposed to be on their way to Ancient Runes! Well, some of them, at least. Harry had yet to completely work out the kinks of who studied what exactly. Dolohov in particular hardly said anything, so it was hard to know what he did.

“I told you; I left some notes in the common room-"

“And then you just decided to stay here?” 

“If you’d let me finish!” Nott said, raising both his tone and up from his position on the couch. “I heard something from the bathroom and went to investigate. Turns out it was Evans, chucking up into a bucket. I didn’t think it proper to just leave him there, so I waited with him until he felt better,” Nott pushed into Rosier’s personal space, to intimidate him. And, whilst initially he had blinked in confusion, Rosier took a step forward himself to show Nott that he wasn’t stepping down.

“So you thought that justified you skipping class? Why didn’t you just bring him to the hospital wing?” 

“Why, I don’t know Altair. I wonder was it because Harry could hardly move?” Nott took a step further into Rosier’s business, eyes sharp with danger. 

“And why is that my problem?” Rosier asked, looking down his nose at Nott’s snarled expression. 

“I don’t know, is it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rosier and Nott’s faces were inches away from one another’s by this point and both were ugly with anger. 

“Is it your problem?”

“How dare you!”

“How dare I? How dare you!” Nott pushed Rosier. Due to its unexpected nature, Rosier tripped over his feet and collapsed into the couch behind him. Harry jumped up and discarded the blanket absently back onto the couch seats. 

Rosier steadied himself on the couch and then looked up at Nott, thoroughly shocked. His eyes narrowed and his breath came out shakily. 

“Did you just push me?” 

“This isn’t funny Altair. Evans has been tortured ever since Charms today. You know he was sick as a child. This could have been really damaging to him,”

“Again, how is that my problem?” 

“I think you know _exactly_ how that’s your problem!”

“You know what Arc, I think you have some sort of problem,”

“ _I_ have some sort of problem?”

“Yes, yes, you do! You’d accuse me, your best friend since birth, of cursing Evans! And without any proof, might I add! What has gotten into you?”

“I think it would be better for me to ask you that question!”

“Me, _really_?”

“Yes, you’ve been so strange these past few weeks! And even before then! You know, you’ve changed. You’ve changed a lot this past year,”

“I’ve changed? _I’ve_ changed? What about you? _You’ve_ changed!”

“No I haven’t,”

“Yes you have! Ever since Evans came along-”

“Are you serious right now? Are you _truly_ serious?” 

“Yes! Since when have you cared about anyone else enough to skip class with them whilst they vomit rainbows into a bucket? That just isn’t you!” Rosier’s breathing took a moment to calm down, and in the time it took for that, he realised fully what he had blurted out. His eyes grew wide as he stared at Nott. 

“What did you just say?” Nott said in a small voice, squinting his eyes. Rosier opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. His heart picked up in pace as he grew desperate to find some sort of excuse. He couldn’t find any. 

“Arc-” Nott held up a hand and lowered his eyes to the floor. He cringed at Rosier’s voice. And then his voice cracked under emotional pain. 

He turned around and left in the direction of the boy’s dormitories. Harry’s eyes followed him for a moment before he looked at Rosier, who was completely engrossed with Nott’s back.

“Arc!” Nott didn’t turn back. 

Harry’s eyes met with Riddle’s. They were quite unreadable. Harry broke the contact and twisted a lock of hair at his neck around his finger. He then let it go and bit his lip. 

“I- I think I’ll go,” Rosier looked faraway. He didn’t acknowledge Harry, so Harry slipped away and followed Nott's lead. 

Rosier’s lungs squeezed out sharp shoots of air through his nose and his vision was receding into fat blobs of moisture. He wished that if he sat still enough and stared at the same spot for long enough, he would disappear or be able to erase what had just come to pass. He vaguely felt a presence at his back and a hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry Rosier,” It was Riddle’s voice. He bent his body so that he could get his mouth closer to Rosier's ear. That way, he could be sure that Rosier would hear the words he was about to say next.  
“I’ll take care of him for you,”

Harry lay in bed. He was decidedly **not** tempted to leave his four poster. When Harry had reached the dorm room after last night's conflict, Nott’s curtains were already tightly shut. He had debated pulling them back so that he could comfort Nott, but he was pretty sure that the message was clear: Nott did not want to be disturbed. 

Harry didn’t see much point in staying up, himself. He definitely didn’t want another fight to blow up, so he readied himself for bed and closed the curtains to his bed within a 10 minute window of entering the room. He also brought in some Charms homework to help distract himself from the chaos that had just ensued (and his glasses, because he was terrified that someone might break or hide them if he left them exposed on his side table). 

He had convinced himself that what had happened was actually good, because Rosier was clearly torn up last night at the possibility of Nott no longer being in his life and that meant that he would do anything to be in Nott’s good books again. He would therefore ignore Riddle and his efforts to convert him to the dark side (or, at least, a darker side). But there was a part of him that niggled with worry that he had forgotten something. Or that he had miscalculated something. Because surely it couldn’t have been _that_ easy? 

Or maybe he was more of a Slytherin than he had first thought? Maybe he was far better at scheming than he had ever given himself credit for. And the strange thing was, he had sort of enjoyed it. He had especially enjoyed it when it worked out how he wanted it to. Maybe the Sorting Hat had been right? Maybe he would flourish in Slytherin.

Harry reached over his body to find his glasses beside his pillow. He fixed them onto his face and then stretched himself into an upright position, smiling all the while. After hearing something pop and a rush of energy surge around his body, he relaxed his upper body and tried to sober his face. It wouldn’t do to be called out for being smug so early in the morning. 

He swished open his curtains. And then stilled.

No Malfoy (which was to be expected), no Mulciber, no Rosier, and no Nott. Open curtains, no bodies. Harry blinked and then turned the corner of his duvet back so that he could slip out of bed. His feet flitted across the stone floor and the textured carpet all the way to the bathroom. 

The door was ajar, but he still held out hope and knocked against it. When he didn’t get a reply, he pushed it open. Empty. Completely empty. Harry’s heart dropped.

He cast a Tempus charm. 7:16am; around the time he usually awoke at. He looked back out into the bedroom and let out a deflated breath.

Merlin’s beard, where was everyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh... that can't be good...
> 
> We're at the climax of the story's first arc. It'll all be very juicy and somewhat angsty for the next two chapters. After this we do be entering tier two, tho, so the pain will be worth it! 
> 
> Next time, Harry's breakfast is underwhelming, accusations are free falling from the sky, and confrontations abound (serious confrontations at that).
> 
> Take care everyone and enjoy the rest of your week!
> 
> Ps. Neil Lament (according to the wiki) was the canon Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team during the time period of this story. I felt it only fitting to include him in the mayhem of it all. He was also apparently named after someone who worked on the films, so that's cool to know. I will say though, Neil is not going to be displayed in the best light during this fic. I doubt the real Neil will ever read this fic, but if he does, I'm sorry! I promise it's not personal!   
> (Alright bye)


	17. Potter's out of the bag

Harry hurried up the dungeon stairs to get to the Great Hall. His shirt had been thrown together hastily and it felt awkward against his skin. It pulled too much around his shoulders, so he tried to straighten it as he moved. 

The hall was milling with its usual amount of students and Harry joined them into the embrace of the Great Hall. As soon as he made an appearance, he noticed a hush in the hall. People were looking at him and he didn’t know why. After a moment, they turned back to their friends, but every so often their eyes would find him again. What was going on?

He made his way over to the Slytherin side of the hall and walked down to his place. Riddle and his gang were all studiously buttering their toast and were in a comfortable silence. It was only when Harry was upon them that he realised the spot normally left for him between Nott and Lestrange was firmly shut. Harry paused. 

It was only then that Riddle pretended to recognise his presence. 

“Hey, Nott could you move over?” Nott didn’t respond, he just kept on buttering his toast; although Harry did register a slight hitch to his shoulders. Harry frowned. Something was definitely not right.

“Nott-”

“Harry, what are you doing here?” Riddle said, languidly looking up at him after he had finished coating his rye bread. Harry let out a confused laugh.

“What do you mean ‘what am I doing here’? This is where I sit!” Riddle lowered his eyes to his newspaper to the side of his plate.

“No, that is where Harry _Evans_ sits,” his voice was condescending, as if he were explaining something to a child.

“What do you-?” 

“Not where Harry _Potter_ sits,” 

Harry’s heart was plunged into a cold and frightening feeling. All the hairs on his head tingled and his instincts were stuck on a primal alert. 

“What are you talking about?”

“What are _you_ talking about, **Potter**? What _have_ you been talking about? Your parents were slain in an attack from Grindelwald, was it? ‘Parents’ plural?” Riddle chuckled a little under his breath and steepled his toast into his hand, eyes skimming the words of the article he was reading all the while. “I was under the impression that Fleamont Potter was still with us,” 

Harry watched as he raised the toast to his mouth and took a bite. Harry grit his teeth.

“You-” Nott burst up from his spot and picked up the strap of his bag which he had abandoned on the floor.

“I’m going to Herbology. Lestrange, you coming?” Lestrange looked up at Nott and then back to his plate, which still had a trace of beans on it. 

“Sure,” he dabbed at his mouth and demounted the bench with Nott. 

“Wait, Nott-!” Harry tried to catch Nott’s eyes, but he wouldn’t look at him. He marched away with long, uneven strides. Lestrange hurried to follow him but gave Harry the decency of a glance. 

Harry wanted to follow them and try to explain, even though he had no explanation to count on.

“Nott!” he called out, about to begin jogging after him. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Harry heard Riddle say in a sing-song sort of way. He turned back to look at him with flames in his eyes. Maybe he should set his paper on fire.

“Why not?”

“Well, I think that his message was quite clear, don’t you?” Riddle looked up at Harry from his paper as if Harry was an unsightly spider climbing up his wall. 

“I’m sure there will be some empty spaces at the end of the table,” he turned back to his article in dismissal of Harry (it was actually a rather interesting one on flying fish and their potential in the mailing industry). 

Harry had the right mind to ignore Riddle and sit down regardless, but he held himself back from doing so. He looked around at everyone on the table. He could tell Rosier was supressing his smugness (though he was doing an atrocious job at it). Malfoy was playing around with the food on his plate; an action hardly befitting someone of such high class. Avery was scratching his neck on an eternal loop and focusing on the same sentence of a letter he had received towards the start of breakfast and Dolohov, well, he was looking at Harry with a murderous expression that Harry worried would worsen if he sat down at the table. 

They weren’t going to be of much help. 

Harry didn’t know quite what to do so he decided to do nothing. He retired without a word and walked as naturally as he could to the back of the hall. It felt colder back there and the people who populated the table at this end looked quite unfriendly. They huddled ever closer when Harry chose a spot right on the edge of the table. 

All that he could access without getting in anyone’s way was brown bread. He couldn’t even reach the butter and he certainly didn’t want to draw further attention to himself by summoning it over. 

Because really, he wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. He felt humiliated, embarrassed, lonely, and worst of all, completely and utterly betrayed.

Harry bounded down the hill leading to the Groundskeepers Hut. His focus was laser thin on the smoke curling like a cat from the chimney of the cottage. Good, that meant he was home.

It was lunch time and Harry had decided to forgo it. He couldn’t bear the thought of going into the Great Hall again and just numbly accepting his fate. He hardly had an appetite anyway. Not after the morning he’d had.

Herbology had been torturous. Nott swapped seats with Lestrange so that he didn’t have to sit next to Harry. The fact that he had sat so close to Professor O’Leary, someone whom he had told Harry he expressly disliked, spoke volumes of how serious this situation was. Neither of them engaged with Harry and they colluded with one another exclusively. Harry was left to come up with solutions to plant management by himself. 

At one stage, O’Leary seemed to have noticed that Harry was Billy-no-mates and swooped in to ‘save’ him. Whilst his intentions were pure, it was certainly not a good look for Harry, whose reputation was pretty damaged as it was. 

It seemed the whole school knew that Harry was a Potter. They had the wrong father, of course, but Harry wasn’t about to shout in their faces that his father was not Fleamont and in fact it was a man who hadn't even been born yet. He heard whisperings of the name as he was on his way to Herbology and the whole class had given him a look when he entered. It was humiliating, but in some ways, something he was used to. Therefore, he found it easier to shield himself with a stoic expression and this meant that, generally, people gave up gossiping very quickly. 

Harry could only think of one way this could have spread, and that was why he was walking at a sweat inducing speed to the only conceivable source of the leak. 

Harry approached the door of the hut and gave a sharp, erratic knock. He heard a fumbling sound from within and the door was cracked open. Ogg’s face squeezed in between the open slit. When he realised who it was visiting him, he was taken by a smile.

“Harry-!”

“Was it you?” Ogg’s smile receeded.

“I’m- I’m sorry, what do you mean?” 

“Was it you who told everyone my last name?” Ogg’s eyes widened and he opened the door the rest of the way. 

“Oh Harry,” he noticed the stiffness of the boy’s shoulders now and the lines of desperation on his face. His knuckles had been whitened under the stress of his clenched fists. “No, I didn’t,”

“Are you certain, not even by accident?” 

“Harry I haven’t told a soul, I swear it,” Ogg had a hand on his heart. Harry knew that it was a good heart and he knew that it wouldn’t lie. He placed his head in his hands and sighed.

“Then how does the whole school know?” he murmured. Ogg could hear anguish in Harry’s muted voice.

“Harry, come inside. I’ll get you a spot of tea, alright?” Harry’s hands fell to his sides and he stepped forward and into the warmth of the hut. 

It was similar in almost every respect to Hagrid’s hut, but Ogg did not seem to hoard exactly the same merchandise as a man obsessed with Magical Creatures. He was obviously more into Herbology, as evidenced by the bags of seeds and stacked pots of soil that had made their way inside the hut. 

The place did seem a lot bigger without Hagrid’s larger body taking up major space and the utensils around the kitchen were much more demure in size. But all in all, it was like being back home. 

Ogg guided Harry to a seat at his wooden and unpolished table. It looked handmade, but Harry didn’t think it was a very appropriate comment to make and instead cradled his forehand on the palm of his left hand. 

After a moment of hobbling about and knocks against cabinets, Ogg entered Harry’s field of vision at the side of the table with a teapot and some floating cups. Two bowls of game stew followed him as well as some fat ended spoons. 

“I thought you might be hungry. You mustn’t of had any lunch yet,”

“Yes, I couldn’t even go to the Great Hall,”

“Why not?” One of the bowls floated to a spot in front of Harry and the spoon nestled itself into the juices of the stock. 

“Because my ‘friends’; those ones that I was walking to Herbology with included, won’t let me sit with them anymore,” Browbeaten, Ogg reached for one of the mugs that had just landed on the table. 

“Alright, I’m going to pour you a cup of tea and you’re going to explain what happened,”

“So, what you’re telling me is that you woke up this morning and they had all completely changed?”

“Yes. For some reason, finding out that I’m a Potter is such a bad thing that I’m detested. I just don’t understand why they’re acting this way. And I just cannot fathom how they found out!”

“I swear it wasn’t from me. I don’t divulge in gossip. I only keep to myself here,” Harry hadn’t ever seen Ogg with anyone, that much was true. He was always popping in and out of shadows, carrying things or wheeling things or repairing something with his wand. He was quite an introvert. 

“I believe you, it’s just I can’t believe all of this has happened. I was doing so well. At fitting in, that is,”

“You were, I agree. You made friends very quickly, and from Slytherin no less!” Harry scoffed.

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy,” Although, it sort of had been, hadn’t it? At least, making friends with Nott had been easy. He had even, sort of, maybe, enjoyed it. That’s what made this whole thing so much worse. 

“Well, I think you ought to be proud of yourself for fitting in so well,”

“Yeah, well now it’s all ruined. You were right, they were traditional. They can’t stand to look at me now; I disgust them so much,” Ogg twisted his mouth to the side and looked almost apologetically at Harry. 

“Perhaps you’re better off without them? If they are going to drop you over something like this,”

“No, I’m really not better off,” 

His whole plan, uprooted. 

“Surely you can find some other people to spend your time with,”

“Not really. They are the most popular people in Slytherin and they have a lot of influence over the house. Since I’ve fallen out with them, no one will want to be my friend,”

“Maybe you could befriend some people in another house?”

“There’s no point,” he couldn’t explain why to Ogg, so he picked up the spoon in his bowl and served a portion of the stew into his mouth. 

“I room with some of them,” Harry said, after swallowing its mushed contents. “I have no clue how _that_ will turn out. Are they allowed to move me from my room?”

“No, of course not. They can’t do something like that, don’t worry,” Ogg ate a spoonful of his own stew. 

“They were able to get me to room with them,”

“They won’t be able to transfer you, I swear,” they ate in silence for a moment and then Harry dropped his spoon into his bowl and laid his forearms on the table.

“Why is being a Potter so bad?” he asked, gesticulating with his hands. Ogg lowered his own spoon with a calmer motion than Harry had used. He centred his dark blue eyes on Harry. 

“Illegitimacy can be quite a sore topic in the wizarding world. Most pureblood marriages are arranged, you know? There often isn’t much love between the two participants; it’s a marriage of families more than anything else. Sometimes dalliances do occur, and that can lead to issues with succession, especially if the illegitimate child is first born. Some who are born out of wedlock try to claim their place back into the family as they get older. So perhaps you can understand why they are trying to distance themselves from you?”

“But I don’t want to claim any sort of inheritance! I don’t want to be the Potter heir! I’m only here by chance anyway!”

“Oh, I know that. I know that you don’t have those sorts of intentions. But, it doesn’t really matter what I think. What I think doesn’t really effect the way that they think. And for them, this issue is one that perhaps they have feared happening in their own families. So they may see it in a different lens than I,”

Harry sighed and bent his head over his bowl. 

“Oh Ogg. Everything is a mess,” There was a deficiency of something in Harry’s voice that worried Ogg, so he extended his hand and laid it on Harry’s shoulder. 

“It’ll be alright Harry. Don’t fret. Time has a way of mending these sorts of ills,” he squeezed Harry’s shoulder. Harry lifted his head and met Ogg’s eyes. “In the meantime, you can come to my hut at lunchtime if you want. Cooking for two is easier than cooking for one anyhow,” he offered Harry a weak smile. Harry did his best to return it. 

“Thank you Ogg. That really means a lot,” 

“Your welcome Harry. Now, hurry up and eat your stew before it gets cold,”

_Plan C_

Harry had been staring at that amalgamation of letters for the past half hour. He tucked himself away into his bed before anyone had returned from dinner. He had begged Ogg for a sandwich to pack away and eat later and Ogg had obliged, though he didn’t look terribly happy to do so. Harry knew that Ogg didn’t want to coddle him too much, that tough love was needed in order to get someone to move on, but Harry couldn’t move on like Ogg was hoping he would. Harry couldn’t abandon his mission, he just couldn’t.

That didn’t mean that he didn’t have to switch up tactics. 

He was drawing a blank. He couldn’t think of what else he could conceivably do. The convenience of the leak certainly hadn’t alluded him; right after he almost destroyed the friendship between Rosier and Nott (which was arguably not his fault in the first place and rather a build-up of Rosier’s misdeeds). Riddle had to have something to do with this, there was no way the broken Rosier he had seen the previous night was capable of crafting something like this, especially when he could have just spilled the beans to Nott in the first place and save himself all the hassle of cursing Harry. 

But what on earth could he do?

Could his counterattack stem from the teachers? Get them to see Riddle's treachery? How could he get them to listen to him? What would make them want to listen to him? A good academic record perhaps?

He certainly couldn’t be the top student in his year like Riddle could. The man was doing practically all the subjects humanly possible to do, and superhumanly at that. Harry could **not** compete with that. Therefore, teachers would hardly be swayed by such an average student as he. 

Having said that, he knew that Dumbledore didn’t trust Riddle. Perhaps he should start working on Dumbledore. After all, he was the most powerful wizard alive (probably). If Harry could get someone like that on his side, Riddle would be over before he had even begun (if you didn’t count now as the beginning). 

But, Dumbledore didn’t exactly trust Harry either, did he? He had revealed that he was looking into Harry’s past, and that he wasn’t finding anything. Harry wondered whether he had been doing that from the start or whether it was a newly fledged concern that had come as a result of the dubious company Harry was keeping (or the house that he was in). Hogwarts must have had a screening process for potential students though, it probably hadn’t any sinister intentions (for Harry) behind it, right?

Would Harry have to go back and revisit Plan A after all?

Harry heard a knock on the door. He hadn’t silenced his bed, so he could hear the goings-on in the room exterior to him. Interestingly, no one had talked about him ever since they began returning to the room 20 minutes ago. 

No one got up to answer the door and no one from the outside opened it either. 

Could it be one of _those_ knocks?

Harry heard the bed to his left sigh as Mulciber (presumably) removed himself from it. 

“Rosier, you coming?” 

“Sorry?”

There was a pause wherein nobody spoke, but Harry could hear a shuffling. 

“Oh… oh, yes,” Harry heard a kerfuffle from where Rosier’s bed was positioned. 

“Where are you off to?” Harry registered that that was Nott.

“Um-”

“Study group,” Mulciber cut in. His voice was gruff. Of course, that would hardly deter Nott, Harry thought with a smile.

“What for?”

“None of your business. After you Rosier,” And with that, Mulciber and Rosier left the room. 

Harry wasn’t sure whether Malfoy was up or not, but his bed was deathly quiet so he was led to presume that Malfoy had closed his curtains at some point and Harry had been spiralling down a trail of obsessive thoughts too fervently to notice. 

He knew from that exchange however that Nott was awake, and wondered whether he should poke his head out and try to chance a conversation, now that they were alone. But, it felt reckless and too raw to try just yet, so Harry allowed Nott to close his own curtains undisturbed. 

So, Rosier was now going to these candlelit meetings? Had Harry really done nothing at all to prevent the future from occurring? Was it actually impossible to change?

What a horrible turn. 

Harry left Ogg’s hut in a hurry. He had a bit of a distance to walk to his next class and only 10 minutes to get there. He could still taste the herbs Ogg used to marinade his chicken in. Ogg was a surprisingly talented chef. 

It was Wednesday now and the second day of going to Ogg for some grub at lunch. Ogg had given him another sandwich, made again with leftovers from their meal, but had insisted that the food-giving was only temporary and Harry would have to re-join civil society again at some stage. 

Temporary was good enough for Harry.

Harry had Potions for the first class after lunch. In fact, it was his first class of the whole week for Potions as he had skipped the one on Monday due to the whole ‘rainbow vomit’ situation. That could be an issue. 

Harry arrived just on time to the Potions classroom in the dungeons behind a rowdy group of Gryffindor boys. They didn’t seem to notice Harry behind them and almost backed into him on multiple occasions. Harry decided to stand way back. Had Gryffindors always been this annoying? 

“Afternoon everyone, I hope you had a lovely lunch,” Professor Slughorn said from the front of the room. He had piles of parchment squirreled away on his desk and took the time to straighten each one as he waited for students to trail in. 

“Today, we are going to do a follow-up lesson on healing potions, so get to your stations and I’ll discuss which ones we will be attempting today,”

Harry had been discretely told by Slughorn as he did his rounds around the classroom that he wanted to see him after class. They both knew exactly what about. He left after making a comment on the consistency of Harry’s potion being 'very nice'. Harry supposed that was alright, as far as compliments go. He’d certainly prefer to swallow a smooth potion than a chunky one.

He noticed Slughorn sidle up to Nott as well and expected that he had whispered something much the same to him. Nott nodded and waited until he walked away to slump his shoulders. Harry noticed him reach out to grab something from the table in front of him and slide a quill behind his ear. Harry’s quill. Perhaps it meant nothing, perhaps it was just a nervous tick, but that nervous tick could have meant something more. It could have meant that Harry comforted him. But Harry wasn’t sure whether such an assumption was a stretch. It probably was.

“Woah, should the potion bubble like that?” the Gryffindor beside Harry queried with an edge of shock to his voice. Harry turned his attention back to their project.

“No. No, I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of what we want,” Harry hurried to open his book to the right page and glanced back into the pot. “Is that rising?”

“Um, yeah I think so?”

“Oh Merlin’s beard,” Harry sprinted through the sentences on the recipe of the healing potion (for boils, apparently), and noticed a handy little hint he had left for himself along the way to 'keep your eyes on the potion when it gets smooth, as it has a tendency to boil over and leave a sulphuric smell on anything it touches'. Christ.

“ **We have to turn the heat down** ,”

“To what?”

“'A low flame; like a flicker',” Harry quoted the text verbatim. His partner was all action and reduced the flame just in time. The potion reduced in height. They sighed in relief.

“It’s got a lot of air bubbles in it now,” the Gryffindor beside him said, peering into mixture. 

“Maybe stirring it will make it better?” the Gryffindor nodded and began stirring. It did indeed smooth out again, returning to the consistency they had before, if perhaps slightly thinner than anticipated.

“Wow, crisis averted!” the Gryffindor said. Harry left out a breath of relief. They looked at one another and smiled.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” the Gryffindor said, reaching out a hand.

“Harry,” Harry accepted the handshake. 

“Yeah, I um… I sort of know who you are,” Harry furrowed his eyebrows and then smoothed out his forehead. Of course, he was the talk of Hogwarts after all.

“Ah, I see. You’ve heard the rumours then,” Harry said, trying to project an image of nonchalance as he spied the contents of the cauldron. 

“Yeah. It’s hard to avoid them, I’m afraid,”

“Rumours spread fast in Hogwarts, huh?”

“Yeah, thanks to the Slytherins. No offence!” Sam bit his lip, hoping that he hadn’t hurt Harry. On the contrary, Harry was intrigued. 

“What do you mean?”

“Oh just, you know, the Slytherins have a way of getting secrets, is all. In fact, I don’t know if I should be telling you this but... you are a victim, I suppose, of rumours so you probably deserve to know-” Harry levelled a polite look on Sam which urged him to stop spluttering like a fool and take a breath. He leaned in closer to Harry and dropped the volume of his voice. “There’s a guy in Slytherin who is notorious for finding things out. And, more importantly, spreading those things really well. It’s almost impossible to trace things back to him. But he’s got eyes everywhere,”

Harry surveyed the vicinity. They were at the back of the room, no one was behind them. They were also a moderate distance from Riddle and his gang; Harry had seen to that on his first day as he wanted to monitor them from a distance. They were surrounded, mostly, by Gryffindor students. They should be safe to discuss this topic.

“What’s his name?” Harry said, nudging him to continue. Sam flicked his eyes to the front of the room and Harry tried to follow them. 

“His name is Malum Avery. Captain of Slytherin’s Quidditch team,” Harry’s chest jumped as he inhaled. 

“You know him?” Harry blinked at Sam and then nodded jerkily. 

“Yeah, I know him,” Of course Avery had something to do with this. How could he forget Malfoy and the blow up they had? Malfoy had hinted at Avery having a track record of secret spreading. But how on earth had he gotten _Harry’s_ secret? 

“I see. I imagine it must be fairly hard to miss him. What with him being friends with _Riddle_ and all,” Sam’s voice didn’t sound too enamoured with Riddle. 

“You don’t like Riddle? I thought everyone did,” Sam snorted. 

“Not everyone. I don’t like how he has his hands in everything,” Harry smiled. 

“That he does,”

“Do you not like him?” Sam asked hopefully, as Harry picked up the spoon to stir the potion again. Thankfully, it had thickened. 

“I’m… undecided,” Oh, Harry hated him alright. Even more so than usual, seen as he had banished him from his seat at the Walpurgis table in such a brutal fashion. But he couldn’t freely spew a negative rhetoric about him just yet. “But I appreciate that you have a different opinion about him than others. Most people think the sun shines from his... proverbial,” 

Sam laughed and suggested they focus on the finishing stages of their potion lest it explode in their faces. Harry found that he couldn’t agree more.

“Harry, Arcturus, I’d imagine you both can understand why I called you up here?” Professor Slughorn said from his desk after the class had ended. 

“Yes professor,” they said in unison (it was actually sort of creepy). 

“Wonderful. Now that we’re all on the same page, I would love an explanation for your absence during Monday's class,” Harry looked at Nott but Nott only offered him side-eyes. Harry turned to Slughorn.

“Professor, it was because of me. Nott was actually my saviour in all of this; he was only with me because I needed help,” Slughorn quirked an eyebrow.

“Explain,”

“I was ill, terribly ill. I was incredibly nauseous. I had gone back to my dorm room to um, get over my illness and well, it wasn’t really clearing. Nott happened upon me and saw that I was… not well and he offered to stay with me. Unfortunately it meant that we missed Potions, but our hands were tied. I could hardly move,”

“I see,” Slughorn flicked his eyes over to Nott.

“Is this true Arcturus?” Nott took a moment to nod in assent. 

“Yes, professor. I was getting a book from my dorm room and heard Harry,” Slughorn took a big breath and scrutinised both Harry and Nott measuredly. 

“What a wonderful show of camaraderie, Arcturus. I think that deserves some house points, don’t you?”

“Thank you sir,” Nott bowed his head. 

“However, it still stands that you could have come to me to inform me of this,”

“I didn’t want to leave Harry, sir. He was in an abysmal state, I was worried for his health. He was ill as a child, as I’m sure you are aware,” Harry stared at his chukka boots. They could really do with a bit of polish.

“Yes…” Slughorn steepled his hands and sighed into them. After a moment of blank staring at the floor, Slughorn raised his eyes and looked at the boys with conviction.

“I appreciate that, so I have factored that into my decision making process,” he stood up, hands on his desk still. “The store room has developed quite the layer of dust over the summer and I normally hold out cleaning it as I find it a fitting minor punishment to inflict. There is always some trouble when the term starts up again, however nothing at all had happened this year, and I was beginning to think that I would have to clean it myself,” he smiled, teeth like a shark. 

“Thankfully, you two have done something worthy of cleaning the store room. How does this Friday suit? Say after the last class?” Nott’s shoulders fell and he looked at the ground. Harry, on the contrary, perked up. Perfect, a chance to make up with Nott!

“Suits me perfectly sir,” 

“… it suits me as well,” Nott mumbled. Slughorn’s eyes glinted at Harry. It was clear that he registered Harry’s inappropriate perkiness to punishment. Oh no, now Slughorn thought he was a masochist. 

Thankfully, Slughorn didn’t bother to bring it up and instead permitted them to leave the room.

“Tell your next teacher that I kept you behind and to come to me if that is a problem!”

Harry waited until Nott clicked the door closed before he spoke to him. 

“Nott-”

“Don’t. Say. Anything,”

“Why Nott? Why won’t you talk to me?” 

“You know why, Ev-. I don’t even know what to call you anymore!” Nott started to giggle hysterically. 

“Just call me Harry, then! Call me Harry!” 

“Merlin’s- how could you be a Potter? How does that make any sense?”

“Well… the hair might- sorry,” he cut himself off when he noticed Nott shift him a glare.

“I can’t believe you,” Nott said under his breath, like a curse. 

“Why does this have to change anything, Nott? I’m still the same person I was yesterday!”

“Except you’re not though, are you? You were an Evans then, now you’re a Potter!”

“And I’m sorry about that. But I don’t even want to be a Potter, I don’t want to be Fleamont’s son!”

“Don’t lie to me, _Potter_ ,” 

How was it that his real surname sounded so vicious when hissed at him? You could hiss ‘Evans’ and it wouldn’t sound as jarring. But Potter… the word could hold such hatred.

“I’m not,”

“Potter, you’re in Slytherin. Of course you want to be Fleamont’s son,” Harry felt his face flush. Nott’s anger was beginning to rub off on him.

“I don’t want to be his son at all! Has it never occurred to you that maybe I don’t want to be associated with him? Hm? That I took the name Evans for a reason despite my mother calling me Potter? Is it so incredible that I want to make a name for myself without his involvement in my life?!” Nott slowed, but didn’t look at Harry.

“Then, why didn’t you tell me?” They were passing through the ground floor of the Grand Staircase now. “You could have told me,”

“I wanted you to know, believe me, I’m really did,” (he actually really didn’t) “But I didn’t know what would happen if I did say it. Besides, I didn’t think it was really important,” Nott froze.

“You didn’t think it was important?” he said slowly. Harry could only see his back as he had been struggling to keep up with Nott until now. He was afraid of what his face said. 

“Yes?” Nott whirled around. 

Okay, Harry was right to be afraid. Nott’s face had gone very red. 

“You didn’t think it was important to tell me that you were the illegitimate child of a pureblood?” Oh no, Harry had made a mistake. A big one by the looks of it.

“I-”

“Unbelievable! Of course, Tom-” Nott cut himself off with a shake of his head.

Harry felt a knot form in his throat. 

“What about Riddle?” Nott looked at Harry, his hard eyes softening slightly at Harry’s expression but remaining hostile all the same. 

“He was right about you, is all,” Harry parted his lip and felt tears of frustration gather on his lower waterline. They were actually painful and he had to breath harder because of them.

“What does that mean?” Nott scrunched up his nose, but it looked as if he had tears brewing of his own. He sniffed and turned around, pursuing the corridor to Transfigurations as if it had murdered someone dear to him. Harry took off a moment later. 

He knew that Nott didn’t want to talk anymore and if he were honest, he didn’t want to talk much either. He was far more preoccupied thinking about what Riddle had said about him. 

The puzzle was all coming together now. 

Harry felt more confident distancing himself from Riddle and his gang from then on. He didn’t feel guilty anymore about not being in their orbit. He was actually relieved for a bit of air from it all. It gave him time to think. 

He even ate breakfast with people other than the Slytherins for the first time, Thursday morning. It was a stroke of luck really that he would enter the Great Hall at the same time Sam would, but he did and Sam noticed him straight away. He called Harry over and invited him to eat breakfast with his friends and him. Harry had decided to treat himself and comply. 

It was a thoroughly enjoyable breakfast, in all actuality, and Harry had even laughed from time to time. A proper laugh too, not just a fake one. Gryffindors were infinitely easier to get along with and he hardly felt as if he were the odd one out at the table. And, as an added bonus, they not once mentioned the fact that Harry was a Potter, which he was infinitely grateful for. 

He would be lying however if he said that he hadn’t looked over once or twice to the Slytherin table, just to see if they were any different in his absence. The answer was yes. Nott was not his usual, chatty self and whilst Rosier tried his best to get him involved in conversation, he kept to himself. Riddle focused a lot on Rosier, as did Mulciber and Avery. In fact, Harry felt like Mulciber could be shaping up to be Rosier’s new designated bestie. When they were departing for their class in History of Magic, Mulciber remained awfully close to Rosier's side and had a permanent smile fixed upon his face. 

Harry had only met Riddle’s eye once and it was largely by accident anyway. Harry just brushed it off and continued his conversation with a Gryffindor girl who was a friend of Sam’s. 

The end of the day rolled around before Harry had time to even register it. On Thursdays, from now on, he would have Quidditch practice in the training grounds. He was a bit nervous about the whole thing if he were honest. 

It was a bit worrying to think that Avery was his captain. He worried about the repercussions of his banishment and how that would affect his Quidditch career at Hogwarts, but he also worried that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from hitting Avery when he saw him. He was the one who had probably started this mess after all. 

The Quidditch practise went better than expected; however, it was the end of it that really went bottoms-up. 

Harry had noticed Neil was unhappy with him right from the get-go. He wasn’t the kind of person who could easily hide his feelings anyway. He wasn’t too much of a problem but he did cause a few incidences where Harry was nearly ejected from his broom. When Harry and Neil were called down by Avery at the end of practise, Harry had expected it to be about Neil’s behaviour. He certainly wasn’t expecting to be offed the main team.

“What?” Harry said with a slack and hanging jaw. Neil’s face split into the ugliest of grins. 

“Thank you for seeing sense, Avery!” Avery gave Neil a look but then returned his attention to explaining the situation to Harry.

“I think I may have been a bit rash in my decision. Neil is an accomplished Seeker and, well, there is such a thing as beginner’s luck after all,” Harry scoffed. 

“I am also an accomplished Seeker! I’ve been flying for years! Was my play today not adequate? Is there something wrong with my performance?”

“Of course not Harry, you fly beautifully-”

“Then why won’t you let me play? I just don’t understand,” Avery all but shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m sorry for raising your hopes Harry, but it was hardly fair on Neil in the first place for me to do such a thing,” 

“But I earned that position fair and-”

“Please remember to whom you are speaking to Harry,” Harry closed his mouth. Oh he knew ‘to whom’ he was speaking. A rat, a stinking, corrupt, spineless rat. But Harry knew better than to say any of this, especially when Avery was expecting his status as Captain to be the thing of note.

“You can leave now with the rest of the reserves, Harry,” Avery cocked a leg over his broom and scrunched his face in an adorably crass expression. “Don’t worry; the benches are lovely and warm,”

Harry chuckled darkly and threw some fingers guns and Avery, which he didn’t actually see but Harry still vindicated doing it. What a prick. 

“Oh well, can’t win them all, can you Potter?”

“It would seem not, Lament. I weep for the Slytherin team,” Harry turned on his heel and strode out the exit of the training grounds without a further word. He made sure to glare at the benches before he left. Yeah, there was absolutely no way he was sitting on them. 

Harry returned to the Slytherin common room full of fresh night air. It was around half 10, the last time he had checked. Seventh years had a curfew of 11pm (he had been told so by Nott when Nott suggested that they grab a muffin from the kitchens before bed. Rosier and Mulciber had come along too, but that was besides the point). He only had Charms and Defence on a Friday and he had already done the assigned homework for that, so he had allowed himself to stay out as late as he had without feeling any guilt. 

Harry needed to cool down after Quidditch, so after a quick shower and a few hasty drying spells, he was out on the lawns surrounding the castle; as far away from other people as he could possibly go.

He found a little outcrop of grass by the lake that looked soft enough to sit on. After transfiguring a quill into a rug (he forgot the enchantment for a picnic blanket in his fury), he made a place for himself on the earth and sat there brooding with his chin rested on his knees for what was left of the afternoon and the birth of the evening. When he started seeing creatures emerge from the bushes around him, he thought it best to get back to the dorms. 

He was so angry by so many things, that he couldn’t put his finger on any one source. But at the root of it all, Harry sensed a grand disappointment. Disappointment in himself, in those who he was trying to befriend for being utter tossers, even though he knew they were tossers to begin with, and then it sort of circled back onto himself for being stupid enough to believe that there was a chance that they weren’t _actually_ tossers deep down. 

By the time Harry got back to the common room, he really just wanted to sleep. Funny how one never seems to get exactly what one wants, though. 

“Oh, look who it is that’s decided to finally grace us with his presence!” Harry stopped shaking cold air from the tangle of black atop his head. 

That sour, goading voice was coming from the couches in front of the fire, and from the mouth of a rather smug and round nosed Slytherin Seeker. Newly repositioned Slytherin Seeker, that is. 

Lament was amongst none other than Riddle and his gang, though, of course, he wasn’t permitted to sit on the same sofa as Riddle. Riddle slunk his elbow onto the back of his seat and cast an eye over his shoulder to see who Neil was talking about. He blinked slowly at Harry but made no further gesture to signify that he recognised him at all. It was as if he were a stranger. 

Harry sighed, the sort of sigh that made your shoulders cave in, and he continued walking. Best to ignore these sorts of things. He noticed that Nott was hesitant to meet his eyes, so he didn’t bother to give him any more attention than necessary. 

Harry had made good leeway down the room when he was disturbed again.

“Oi, Harry I was talking to you,” Neil said, sliding in front of him. Harry stopped before they could collide into one another. The last thing he needed was to have to touch this ball of scum. 

“Or maybe you only answer to Potter now, hum?” Harry narrowed his eyes but did his best not to betray his malice in them. 

“Evans will do nicely, thank you, Lament. What is it that you want, exactly?” Harry tilted his head and waited for Lament to give him an answer. 

“Oh, an apology, I suppose. For your ego,” Harry fought the smile threatening to break across his face. He instead bit down on his lower lip and let it go before speaking again.

“I’m truly sorry for my ego. Won’t happen again. Is that all? Because I really must be going-“

“Woah woah woah, where do you think your going?” Lament grabbed onto Harry’s arm as he passed him. 

“I _think_ I’m going to my room. Can you let me go please?” 

“You know, I don’t really think you’re sorry,” Harry held his tongue because if he let it run off, it would say something he meant. And he couldn’t go saying what he meant around a guy like Neil. 

“In fact, I think you’re a bit too big for your boots,” Neil took a step closer to Harry. Ugh, not a good cologne at all. Frankly, his own body odour would have been an improvement. 

“But that’s typical from people like you; **bastards** who think they deserve a place in society. I bet your mother was a right-” he didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Harry’s fist collided with his face. Harry shook off as much pain as he could, but it still felt raw.

The room had fallen dead silent and everyone had frozen to watch what was going on.

Neil had both hands cupping his cheek. Then he looked at Harry.

“Did you just-?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a son if I let a **brute** like you badmouth my mother,” Neil moved far too sloppily for Harry to miss what he was doing. Harry deftly pulled out his wand just in time to block a ball of fire from singeing off his eyebrows.

Immediately afterwards, Neil decided that it would be a great idea to storm Harry with another flurry of spells. Harry blocked them all. Neil then swung a punch under a hopeless feint and Harry walked out of its way. He caught a glimpse of Nott on the couch beside Rosier. He had turned completely in his chair and was watching the proceedings with nervous interest. 

Harry paused. Perhaps winning this fight was not the way to win the war. 

He had been so blindsided by the whole affair that he hadn’t realised the underlying meaning behind why Nott had been so evasive towards him as of late. It was because he was hurt, not just insulted. He was _hurt_ because Harry had kept such a big secret from him. That meant that he must still care for Harry. From the pinched look that was on his face as Harry barely missed a Freezing Curse, it was obvious that Nott was actually _worried_ that Harry would get hurt. 

So, if Harry _did_ get hurt... would Nott have a change of heart? Would he realise the errors of his ways and come back to Harry? 

Harry winced at a terribly hot spell that passed by his ear. Maybe he’d choose a better spell than that to hit him. 

But no better spell came. He just kept deflecting them, one after the other, out of habit. And Neil was getting more and more desperate, flying harmful spell after harmful spell his way. Nott would start to lose interest if he didn’t take one soon. He gritted his teeth and looked at Nott again, accidentally brushing past Riddle’s gaze as he passed. 

The next one, he’d miss the next one! 

“CRUCIO!”

And then, all Harry knew was pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Harry, that's got to smart. 
> 
> Neil, not cool. I can't believe you done this. (Again, I'm sorry to the real Neil for making this character such a villian).
> 
> But, let us also all appreciate Ogg, King of the Smol Beans. He's like Hagrid 2.0 but he doesn't have a love of dangerous, possibly homicidal, creatures. Ogg prefers Herbology and sometimes helps out O'Leary's classes. (And, coincidentally, grows award-winning beans.
> 
> Sam, as well, has been introduced in this chapter. He is a sweet Gryffindor boy with a passion for Grindylows. Yeah, I don't know either. 
> 
> We got to see the cruelty of our group of Slytherin's in this chapter. Another reason why, if he were a normal person without a revenge plan for Riddle, Harry should have run for the hills by now. Being a part of Riddle's group is difficult; you can't afford to be complacent for one instant. Harry needed a little reminder, I think, of how dangerous these Slytherins are (even if he would probably not appreciate me giving him one) (Sorry, Harry).
> 
> Next time, Harry wakes up in an unfamiliar place, finds out the truth behind the leak of these blasted rumours, and gets an unexpected invitation. One that he's not sure he wants...
> 
> Until then, byyeeeeee


	18. Building bridges doesn't take long when you are a wizard

Harry’s face felt very hot. Or maybe it was warm? Either way, it wasn’t entirely pleasant. And his forehead, it felt slimy, as if a slug had taken a jaunty on his face and left a thick line of sludge in its wake. He squeezed his eyes for a bit of respite from the bright light attacking his face, but it didn’t do much to help. He then decided to cut the middle man and open them. He wasn’t going to fall back asleep again with that heat beating down on him anyway. 

Harry’s opened eyes revealed that he was in the Hospital Wing of the school. 

Wait, that couldn’t be right. What the hell was he doing in the hospital wing? 

“Oh, you’re awake! Ms Murpuddle, Evans is awake!” Harry tried to prop himself up on his elbows but found them too weak to support him. What in the world was wrong with him?

“Oh calm down, calm down. You’re alright. I’ll help you there,” A pair of slender, dark hands approached him from the left and wrapped around his opposite shoulder, pulling him up against some pillows so that he was sitting. The hands retracted and went to fluff the pillows. 

“You’ve got to be careful. You’re still a bit too weak,” Harry leaned back against his soft supports and winced. His neck was really sore. And his head felt as if someone had unleashed a swarm of bees inside. 

“What happened? Why am I here?” He said, his voice muffled by his arm which had come to his face so that he could use the heels of his hands to knead his eyeballs. 

“Sorry what?” A feminine voice replied, breaking whatever tune she was humming. “Oh, you want your glasses, is it?” she turned around. “Here you are!”

“Ah, so the patient is finally awake! How wonderful! I was beginning to worry,” A woman bounced her way to Harry’s side as he put his glasses on. She was a very jolly looking lady and perhaps more in line with someone you would expect the surname ‘Merrythought’ to belong to than the actual woman herself.

Her smile was very warm and her hands were very gentle as she lifted his hair to get a gauge of his temperature. 

“Your temperature is normal,” she pulled away. “Do you feel any nausea? Pains? Aches? That sort of thing?” Harry swallowed and closed his eyes.

“My head hurts a little. It’s sensitive. And I have a bit of neck pain, but I think it could just be a crick,”

“Okay. Let me just check your vitals for a moment dear,” she performed a majestic swish of her wand and little symbols flickered into existence around her. 

“What happened?” he asked, opening his eyes once more. The woman flashed away her symbols.

“You were in a fight with another student and they used the Cruciatus Curse on you. It knocked you unconscious not long after it hit you, but it is unknown whether we can attribute that to the curse or you banging your head against the stone floor when you were thrashing about,”

Harry’s mouth hung open. Of all the curses he could have chosen to get hit by, it had to be an Unforgiveable. It was also quite surprising to Harry that Neil would have used such an illegal spell in the first place. He must have been getting quite desperate to show off. 

Ms. Murpuddle leaned forward again and lifted up his fringe, rubbing a little at the area around his scar and spreading that slimly feeling thing around. 

“Looks like he gave you a nasty scar to boot,” She huffed out a breath and stood straight with her hands on her hips. “Unfortunately, I can’t seem to get rid of it. But it looks rather interesting, if that’s any consolation. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone getting a lightening scar from a Cruciatus Curse before. Perhaps you’re one of the lucky ones!”

Harry laughed weakly. Yeah, he wasn’t going to correct her. 

“Ms. Murpuddle, Harry’s got a visitor,” The nurse, whom Harry hadn't noticed leave, returned with a figure on her left, obscured by her frame. 

“Oh, you’re in luck, young man! He’s actually awake this time!” The figure leapt out from behind the nurse to get a better view of Harry. 

It was Nott. Nott with dark circles under his eyes. 

“Harry,” he said, almost like a whisper. 

“Do you feel up to visitors, Harry?” Ms Murpuddle asked with a tilt of her head.

“Is it alright for me to have visitors?” she pursed her lips.

“Normally, I might be a little more strict on these sorts of things, but the poor lad has been up and down like a fiddler’s elbow trying to see how you are, so I think I’ll let this one slide. Depending, of course, on how you’re feeling,” Harry looked back at Nott, who was beginning to sweat along the edges of his hairline. Perhaps it wouldn’t be fair to continue to put him under pressure anymore; he’d had his fun.

“I feel well enough,” Nott looked back at Ms. Murpuddle for final approval and then hurried over to the seat on the left hand side of Harry’s bed. 

“Harry, I-”

“Hello Nott, how are you?” 

“I’m a lot more worried about how _you_ are,”

“Really? Didn’t seem like that to me last night,” Harry sniffed and inspected his nails, which normally paled in comparison to Nott’s, but now seemed to exceed them. They were uneven and gnawed-looking- clearly they had been interfered with. Nott was breathing heavily. 

“I’m really sorry about that. I’m really, really sorry. I had no idea how much it would escalate. If I had known that he was going to-“ Nott’s voice was dropped for a moment and he had to swallow to regain it. It came back breathy.

“When I saw what he did to you… I felt sick. And I really tried to help you, I really did. But you just wouldn’t respond to me. And then you passed out. I thought you had-“ he whimpered slightly, but masked it as best as he could. Harry’s eyes were wide and soft. He had no idea that it would effect Nott _that_ much.

“I felt like it was my fault,” Nott said slowly, whilst looking devoutly at his lap. Harry extended a hand and laid it on top of Nott’s hands there, even though it required a bit of a stretch and strain.

Nott looked up at him with sad brown eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault. Lament was the one who did that to me, not you,”

“I hardly helped though, did I?”

"Perhaps not, but… I think that I understand why you didn’t,” Nott scrunched his eyebrows together. 

“You do?”

“Yes,” Harry removed his hand from atop of Nott’s and used it to pick at the peeling paint of his hospital bed. “You were hurt because I didn’t tell you about my parentage. I understand how bastards are viewed by purebloods. We are seen as parasites, threats,” 

“It- it wasn’t necessarily because of all of that,” Nott bit on his lip and glanced towards the end of Harry’s bed. He then looked around them and leaned in closer to Harry. 

“I’m going to tell you something that you can’t tell anyone. It isn’t necessarily public knowledge and I need you to keep it quiet. If you tell anyone, I swear I’ll-“

“You probably shouldn’t threaten me if you’re trying to get into my good books,”

“- Fair point. But this is strictly confidential alright?” Harry nodded and stopped peeling away at the paint as a courtesy, to show that he was listening. 

Nott leaned in closer.

“I have a brother,” Harry squinted at him. “ **That** kind of brother,”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“Illegitimate?” Harry shuffled closer to Nott. A nurse passed by. Nott and Harry gave her a smile and then scrambled back into conspiracy mode after she had moved on. 

“My father… had a dalliance with a woman other than my mother and they had a child out of it. He should be eleven on 25 December,”

“Don’t tell me-“

“-That my father was there for the birth of his other son? Yes, yes he was. Christmas day. My mother… my mother didn’t take it very well and when she found out where he was, what had happened… Well, you’ve heard Mulciber call her mad. She’s not, she’s just very… sensitive about my father’s betrayal. And she sometimes does strange things to deal with that pain. Sometimes, dangerous things. I feel like if I’m not there to pick up the pieces… she’ll just fall apart,” 

“And what’s keeping you together?” Harry asked, keeping his eyes on Nott's all the time. Nott laughed.

“My wit and devilish charm?” Harry chuckled.

“Oh, you should be fine then,” he leaned away from Nott and settled onto his pillows. Nott sat back himself. 

“So that’s why you took it hard then? Because I reminded you of him?” Nott twisted his mouth to the side. 

“It sounds sort of silly, but, yes. I trusted you and when I found out that you had been lying about something like that… Well, in ways, it reminded me of my situation,”

“I understand. For what it’s worth, I don’t think what you did was unreasonable; under that context,” Nott smiled wryly.

“You’re always saying stuff like that,”

“That’s just because you’re so damn predictable!” 

“Shut up, Potter!” He laughed for a moment and then stopped. He swallowed and met Harry’s eyes. Harry gave him a small smile.

“It’s okay. But I’d prefer if you were going to call me by my surname that you say Evans. I wasn’t lying when I said that I didn’t want to claim any sort of inheritance. In fact, Fleamont Potter doesn’t even know that I exist,”

“He doesn’t?” Nott said, raising his eyebrows. 

“Nope. No idea. That’s why I was really nervous when the rumours came out. I didn’t want him to hear something and come looking for me. That would be a nightmare,”

“Why?” Nott said incredulously. 

“Because he’s not my dad. Not really,”

“Oh… I understand,” Nott said, sinking back into his chair. Of course, he could never truly understand, but Harry allowed himself to indulge in the feeling that he did and that he could relax. 

“But… what about your mother? Wouldn’t she want you to claim your heritage?” Harry tried to imagine what would happen if his mother was actually in that situation with his father. He didn’t know her all that well, but he felt as if he knew exactly what she would do.

“She told me I was a Potter and who my father was, but he was never in my life. She never even told him that she had a child. He was getting married; she may have been a muggle, but she knew enough about pureblood culture to know that marriage was a union between families. It wasn’t anything personal. I think she didn’t tell my father to protect him and possibly me as well. I may be in part a Potter, but all I’ve ever known is Evans,”

In some ways, this was true. He grew up with his mother’s relatives, not his father’s. There were no Potter’s left to know by the time he had re-entered the wizarding world. Of course, he was happier in the wizarding world than he ever had been in the muggle, but at least had living relatives in the muggle one.

“So, if Fleamont were to find out-“

“I don’t even know if he’d remember my mother,” Nott rubbed a hand at the back of his neck.

“Sometimes it feels like that with my mother. It feels as if my father has entirely forgotten her existence. He favours his mistress,” he finished bitterly and looked off out into the rest of the hospital ward from his spot beside Harry. 

It was unsaid, but Harry could sense the worry and tension in Nott. It was unlikely Nott would be usurped; he was older, pureblood, and had connections to the sons of prominent wizarding blood lines, but there would always be an underlying, perhaps irrational, fear that his spot as the future Head of Household could be handed to someone else if he wasn’t perfect.

Harry couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boy. He was normally so full of life; now he seemed so small. He smoothed a lick of auburn hair that had fallen to his forehead back onto his scalp. 

“Fathers, eh?” Nott chuckled at Harry’s remark and Harry was pleased to notice some tension leave his shoulders. 

“So how did you receive an education then? How were you home-schooled if you had a muggle mother?”

“That is a very good question,” 

Shit. That was a **very** good question that he didn’t have an answer to. Oh no. He fluffed his blankets whilst he thought of something to say.

“I was honestly kept in the dark about that sort of stuff, for the most part. All I was told is that when I started to display magical talents, she tried to contact the family and got in touch with an agent of sorts for them. I don’t know who they were, but they organised a way for me to be tutored on the down low. Most of the time, I read what I needed to know- I tutored myself. I just had to ask for books and they’d be sent to me,”

“Wow,”

“Yeah. My mother was a very strong woman. She literally sacrificed everything to give me a life,”

“Was?” Nott said wincing. Harry traded a solemn look with him.

“I hadn’t been lying when I said Grindelwald attacked,”

“...What happened?”

“She told me to run. I’m afraid I can’t say much else. I can’t-“ Harry's voice caught in his throat as he tried to imagine the woman who’d died so that he could live. He began to cry.

“Oh Evans! I’m so sorry! Here, here,” Nott passed him a handkerchief that he had pulled from his pocket. 

It was actually really soft.

“You better not have blown your nose in this,” Harry said, wiping up the mess forming around his eyes. Nott laughed.

“Only a little,” Harry let out a wet sounding giggle and passed the piece of cotton back. 

“Thanks,”

“My pleasure,” 

Harry smiled lazily.

“Hey, Nott?”

“Yes?”

“You can call me Harry, you know. If you’d like?” Nott froze in place, tucking his handkerchief into the breast pocket of his Slytherin blazer. Then he lowered his hand to his lap and gave Harry a smile. 

“Then, you may call me Arc,”

Harry was scraping the plate free of a fine chicken and mushroom pie when a head popped around the partition on the left side of his bed. It was that lovely nurse again whose name he had learned was Vera Windylew in the intervening hours after Nott had left for their double Charms. 

“Hello Harry!” 

“Hi Vera. You changed your mind about giving me that extra pudding?” 

“Oh, you,” she said, batting a hand his way. He flashed her a charming grin. “You’ll get me in trouble! Forget about that pudding; you are free to go young man!” Harry raised an eyebrow at her and settled his cutlery down on his plate. 

“I am?” 

“Yes, you are. Your vitals are good, your appetite is good; it seems as if the curse hasn’t had any major side effects. You are free to enjoy your weekend far away from here. In fact, I took the liberty of calling Mr. Nott to escort you back to the common room and keep an eye on you,” Arc stepped forward and emphasised a bundle of what seemed to be Harry’s uniform in his hands. Harry grinned.

Sometimes Arc could be so goofy, it reminded him of Ron. 

“Let’s get you suited and booted, young sir,” Arc said in an exaggeration of his own accent, which was already so posh that it made it even funnier. 

“Alright, let’s do that then,”

“So, what happened to Neil in the end? Out of curiosity,” Harry said and he and Arc wandered the dungeon corridors of Hogwarts on their way to the common room. 

“Oh, Neil,” Arc said, as if discussing the near-homicidal teenager was a trivial topic in line with the weather or the outcome of a Quidditch match. “He was expelled,” 

Harry slowed.

“Really?” 

“Of course! He used an Unforgivable on a fellow student. In public, no less. He was bound to be expelled,” Harry blanched.

“And you don’t suppose that he’ll end up in Azkaban, do you?” Arc snorted.

“No, unfortunately; what with him being a minor and all that. But he won’t be continuing his wizarding education anytime soon. I can assure you of that,”

“Oh, Merlin’s beard,” Harry's hand positioned itself like fleshy beard on his own face subconciously.

“What? He has a younger brother; the family will be fine! Besides, if you ask me, he got off lightly. He's lucky he didn't perform this stunt in November; he'll be turning eighteen then,”

“I feel like I’ve just ruined someone’s life!” Harry turned his hands skyward.

“He ruined his own life when he decided to use an Unforgivable on you. It’s not your fault, you are the victim here,” _Yeah, but if it weren’t for me travelling back in time, he wouldn’t be expelled right now_ , Harry thought, but then immediately berated himself for. Arc was right. He was the victim here. And the whole point of Harry travelling through time was to change things anyway (even if he didn’t necessarily intend to change things that way in the first place). 

“You’re right. I’m just being an idiot,”

“Yeah, but what’s new?” Harry tried to hit him in the side, but he evaded it and started backing away down a different corridor to where the common room was situated. 

“Em… Arc. I hate to break it to you, but your sense of direction isn’t what it used to be,” 

“Actually, I have to go this way,”

“Why?”

“Well, remember that time we skipped Potions?” 

“Yeah?”

“And we got that punishment for it?”

“Oh, is that today?” Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Friday, after the last class,” Arc said with a nod.

“Ugh, Merlin’s trousers, this couldn’t have been timed worse,” Harry said, commencing the trudge towards the Potions classroom. Arc held out a hand to his chest to stop him from moving any further.

“Woah, woah, woah! Where do you think you’re going?”

“You know, I’m getting a strong sense of deja-vu here,” Arc winced and lowered his hand.

“Sorry,”

“It’s alright. But I feel like it’s fairly obvious what I’m doing. You were the one who mentioned we have a punishment to get to,”

“No, no, no. I didn’t mean that you were to join me,” 

“Why ever not?” Arc scoffed. 

“Harry, you’ve just been in the Hospital wing for the past day! You can’t be expected to do a bit of tidying up for something that wasn’t even your fault!” Harry stuck out an accusatory finger.

“Now that’s rich coming from you Arc! You weren’t even involved! Your only crime was being a good person and helping me out!” 

“I could have told Slughorn and come back,”

“You said yourself why you didn’t; you were worried to leave me because I had been an ill child and you wanted to monitor me,”

“Well, that was actually a bit of a lie. I just really didn’t want to go to Potions,” Harry sighed, but it wasn’t without mirth. 

“Oh well now I don’t feel guilty at all,” 

“Exactly, so go! Get some rest! I’ll deal with Slughorn,” Arc said, lightly pushing Harry away from him. Harry nudged him back.

“Still doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you clean this place by yourself. Morgana knows how dirty it’s going to be!” Arc made a face, but then threw Harry a slightly more serious look.

“Are you sure you feel up to it?” Arc asked. Harry sighed through his smile. 

“Yes. Honestly, I feel great,”

They were a little earlier than Slughorn had expected them. He was seated at his desk reading a newspaper instead of doing corrections on some first year tests (he later explained that first year tests were the bane of his existence and that he had a tendency to put off correcting them until the umpteenth hour). 

When he saw Harry, he almost had a heart attack. Needless to say, he hadn’t expected a victim of the Cruciatus Curse to show up for a punishment the next day. Harry felt inclined to mention that he wasn’t a masochist (again). He insisted that he was in top health and wished to accompany Arc in cleaning up, as he was involved in the incident just as much as Arc. After vehemently promising him that Lament had been expelled and that he didn’t and would never tolerate that kind of behaviour in his house (the usual rhetoric a Head of House would give when trying to manage a crisis), Slughorn introduced them to where they would be spending their evening. 

The storage room was built to have a little square entrance way before raising up into an elevated storage space. The walls were lined with shelves of archaic ingredients and preserved jars of potion necessities; some were even labelled to boast of an origin of the Herbology greenhouses. The centre of the room was a mismatch of boxes and spare chairs that had enough dust piled on them to be classed as fabric.

“I’ll take your wands and pop them in a time-locked box. Here are some cleaning supplies,” Slughorn summoned a bucket full of powdery water for each of them and some gloves. He then yanked their wands off them and turned his back to lock them away unceremoniously. He really hadn’t been lying when he said that he often used this place for punishments. He moved through the procedure of settling them in with clockwork efficiency.

He left them, after his explanations, with a smile and they both looked at one another before attempting to delegate out tasks. They settled on Arc handling the left-hand side of the room and Harry taking care of the right. Then, they would focus on the centre. 

“My back is killing me!” Arc said, leaning on his broom, with his chin on the back of his hand. “All those cleaning spells and I can’t use a single one of them,”

“Well you could try, I suppose,” Harry said. “Just because you don’t have a wand, doesn’t mean you can’t use magic. You just have to focus a bit more than usual,”

Arc pondered Harry for a moment and then straightened his back. He held out his hand and spoke firmly, but the shelf in front of him remained chaotic with dust and bits of dried up parchment. 

“Rats!” he collapsed again onto his broom. Harry looked over his shoulder from polishing a china bird that had somehow made its way into the Potions Storeroom. It practically purred under the cloth that he was running over its back feathers.

“No luck?”

“No luck,”

“Oh well, guess you’ll have to embrace your inner muggle,”

“Don’t make me sick,”

“Hello?” Harry and Arc turned their heads around to look at the door of the store cupboard from whence a voice and a knock had generated. 

The door was pushed open and Rosier edged his way into the room. The prior inhabitants stood little straighter and grew a bit stiffer. Harry cast a glance at Arc who was in the process of doing the same thing to Harry. They both looked back at Rosier, who was closing the door with his back. 

The click of the shut door rebounded on the walls of the stone room like a match being struck.

Rosier cleared his throat to prepare his voice for plenty of explaining. Harry remained quiet, watching. 

“What are you doing here, Altair?” 

Rosier looked sadly upon his childhood friend, who was speaking to him with a coldness they had never used on one another before. 

“I’m here to apologise, I suppose,”

“You suppose?” Harry said, narrowing his eyes. 

“No, not- that came out wrong,” he solidified his stance in the room. “I wish to apologise to you Harry. And to you Arc,”

“Alright,” Arc said, settling his broom against the shelves beside him. “Apologise,”

“… I just di-”

“You can’t just say ‘I apologise’ and that be the end of it. We have to know what you are apologising for. Then we can know whether we want to forgive you or not,” Arc said, folding his arms. 

Harry looked over at him with a proud smile; he couldn’t have put it better himself. 

“I-I-"

“Alright, apology not excepted,” Arc turned back to focus on cleaning the shelves.

“Wait! Wait! I-!” Rosier sighed and rubbed nervous circles into his upper thighs. Biting his lip, he advanced into the room. 

He watched Harry’s profile. He had taken up polishing again as well. 

“Harry,” Harry slowed until he had stopped polishing, and remained still. Rosier took this as an invitation to start talking again. 

“I- I wish to extend my deepest regrets to you for my behaviour as of late,”

Harry looked at him. 

“What behaviour?”

“Well… for the curse that I cast on you... the rainbow one,”

“Oh! The one that made me vomit seven consecutive rainbows for half a day and for which I have been inflicted the punishment of cleaning this frankly disgusting store cupboard?” 

Rosier winced. 

“Yes, that,”

Harry turned back to his work with a stiff upper lip. 

“And?” 

“And… for my coldness,” 

Harry scoffed and dropped his hands onto the shelf he was cleaning. The china bird bristled, disturbed from its nap. 

“You really are terrible at this, aren’t you?” he said, shaking his head before looking at Rosier. 

Rosier had his head cocked at an adorable angle, but it wouldn’t be enough to charm Harry out of his rage.

“You have actively tried to make my life hell Rosier, and I have done not a single thing to deserve such distain. I have only been friendly towards you, and yet this is what I receive as an apology for your unwarranted behaviour? Well, no thank you. I don’t expect your apology, and frankly, I don’t think Arc should either,” 

“Yeah, you don’t have to worry about that Harry. I’m not planning on forgiving him anytime soon,”

“You- you’re calling one another by your first names now?” Rosier said in a frenzied whisper as he backed away from Harry.

“Yes, Altair. Got a problem with that?” Arc said over his shoulder. Rosier froze.

“B… but you have only ever called me by my first name-“

“Well, times change Rosier,” A deathly silence chilled the room. Even Harry had frozen in surprise. 

Did Arc really just call Rosier by his surname instead of his first? Now **this** was serious. 

“W-what did you just say?” Arc recommenced his cleaning. Harry reluctantly followed suit. 

“Wait, Arc-!” Rosier went up to him and put a hand on his shoulder to grab his attention. Arc shrugged it off. 

“Arc, please don’t do this,” 

“Why?”

“Because… well because, we’re best friends! You’re like the brother I’ve never had!” 

“Well, I have a brother of my own, thank you,” Rosier whipped his head around to Harry and then back to Arc, horror dawning on his face. 

“You told him?”

“That I have an illegitimate brother? Yes. Harry knows everything,” Rosier looked back at Harry who was doing his best to seem as if he were ignoring the proceedings in the room. 

“Why?”

“Because right now he’s more of a best friend to me than you are,”

“What do you mean? How can you say that? We’ve-!” 

“HOW CAN I SAY THAT?! BECAUSE IT’S THE BLOODY TRUTH, ALTAIR!” Rosier jumped back from Arc’s sudden explosion, but Arc closed up the gap between them in an instant. “Ever since we entered sixth year, your priorities have changed Altair, and don’t tell me otherwise! I’ve convinced myself that I am sane one moment and then insane the next for ever doubting you. But I am tired of playing this little game when I know that I am always the one that must lose!”

“What do you mean?” Rosier pleaded, desperation trickling through the sounds of his voice. “I don’t understand!”

“You and Riddle and his friends! That’s what I mean!” Harry was unabashedly looking at them now. Not that they would notice; they were too rapped up in their own issues to include Harry in their argument. 

“What-?”

“When we first went to Hogwarts, I remember feeling jealous about how Mulciber was all over you, trying to get rid of me and become your best friend instead. You were so well liked as it was that I felt nervous anyway, but Mulciber was just too much. He was always there, always niggling at me, highlighting my shortcomings, praising you better than I could. I remember feeling so horrible and I remember being so scared to tell you and look like an idiot. But you told me that it was okay, and that no one could ever replace me as your best friend. You distanced yourself from him so that I would feel better, even though I _know_ you wanted to make new friends when going to Hogwarts. And you never once made me feel guilty or made me feel any less for feeling the way that I felt, 

“Then during the fifth year yule ball, you went missing and I couldn’t find you anywhere. And when I did, I found that you were not alone. There you were with Mulciber and Riddle and everyone else, laughing as if you hadn’t a care in the world. And I had this window into a dimension where I had never existed and no one even cared. And it was horrible,

“Of course, it was largely just paranoia, and I convinced myself of that. But then for the rest of the year, you would always stop and have a conversation with them if we passed them on the halls or you’d stop and say a few words with them before we ate our lunch. And not once did they look at me, they only looked at you. Do you know how that feels, to be completely ignored? As if you were just some desert mirage and not real at all? 

“Again and again, I told myself that I was wrong. That I simply wasn’t trying hard enough to make friends with these people. That it was **I** who was the problem. But they did not acknowledge me past a look or a smile. Nothing. 

“When we went into sixth year, I hoped for a change but things only got worse. We were invited to sit with them on the Hogwarts Express and suddenly we were in this new group of friends and I had to start identifying myself as a member of it, despite never really choosing to be, 

“At first, it wasn’t so bad, but Mulciber began that… taunting again. Those jokes that I could hardly call him out on without looking mad. You started to look at me differently, I know it. And you started to look at them differently too,

“If you want to be with those people, then fine, go. But I don’t need them anymore, and I don’t want them. And I have come to realise, thanks to Harry, that I need to let you decide that for yourself. Not for the both of us. I need to let you go, not cling to you. Not if I don’t want you to resent me. And I don’t want to feel alone anymore,” 

“You’re not alone!”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Arc looked back at Harry who had a glazed, amazed look to his eyes. It made the green sparkle with life. “I’m not anymore,”

Arc walked back to his broom and began swishing away dust. 

“… You’re right,” Arc looked up from the floor. Rosier was staring at the slab he was standing on and his curly, poodle-like hair was obscuring his facial features. 

“I have been cruel to you. To both of you,” Rosier raised his head. His face was sobering. 

“… You were not insane. You were not mad to think that I was… distancing myself from you,” Rosier settled down onto an upturned bucket and rest his wrists on his knees.

“The night of the Yule Ball in fifth year… I had gotten quite bored of my date and made for a quick escape. I didn’t think to tell you as I didn’t want to risk detection. And, when I left the hall, I happened upon Riddle and Mulciber and… everyone outside, getting some air. They invited me over for a chat, out of politeness, and I found myself rather enjoying the conversation. I apologise that I did not look to find you, but I did not realise that it would hurt you so,

“I only continued talking to them afterwards because they always invited conversation and… well they were easy to get along with and I like getting along with people,

“As for sixth year…” Rosier looked to his side, avoiding the judgement of any human eyes. “I admit that I became quite bitter at times over our friendship and that I sometimes felt held back with you, in ways that I didn’t with the others,” Rosier paused to collect the tears brewing in his eyes. He swallowed them back as best as he could before beginning again. 

“I understand how terrible and horrid this sounds. But it is the truth and I cannot hide from it any longer,” he met Arc’s eyes. “I grew to resent our friendship somewhat. I forgot how to appreciate it. I didn’t realise that I needed to. I blinded myself to the impact my behaviour was having on you. And you never said anything, so I neglected to notice that something was wrong,” 

He looked down again at the floor.

“At one point… I seriously considered distancing myself from you completely. And that was when Harry entered the picture,” he raised his eyes to Harry, who was betraying no emotion on his face. 

“Harry and you got along so well and I began to… get jealous,” Arc scoffed.

“I know! So hypocritical, isn’t it?! I was the one making you feel horrible and yet **I** started to get jealous! I’m as disgusted as you are. But I began to act out, thinking it was I who was wronged, instead of understanding it as a lesson to be learned about my behaviour. I failed to recognise that I was the problem. But I do now,”

“What’s changed? Arc asked, crossing his arms. 

“When Harry was attacked the way he was by Neil,” Rosier shivered and looked to Harry. “When I saw that curse hit you and I saw you in that much pain, I realised how wrong I had been. How blind, how cruel, how stupid. It felt like a manifestation of my sins presented in front of me and it was horrible. I never- I never wanted any of this. When Riddle said that he would take care of it-"

“What?” Harry said, stepping forward. Rosier shook his head.

“No, not like that. He- he knew who your father was. He was the one who told me,” Harry strode up to him and knelt down on the floor so that they were at an eye-level with one another. 

“Riddle told you that I was a Potter?” Rosier was shocked into nodding by the intensity of Harry’s voice. 

“How did he know?” Harry grabbed onto Rosier’s shoulders so that he couldn’t shrink away. 

“I-I don’t know. He didn’t say,” he stuttered out. 

“You’re sure?” Harry said, giving one succinct shake to Rosier’s shoulders. Rosier caught himself before he could show his irritation, but Harry had seen it flash in his eyes.

“Yes, I’m sure. He just told me that you were a Potter. And then I told Arc,” Harry’s grip loosened and he straightened with a huff. 

So, the mystery would prevail, huh?

“Well, if Riddle said he was going to take care of it, maybe he was behind Neil’s curse,” Arc spoke up from behind them. 

“No, as I said, it wasn't like that,” Rosier said. Harry pincered his bottom lip between his thumb and his forefinger in concentration. 

“Why not? He’s always planning something, that fellow. What if this was part of his plan to take care of Harry?” 

“I…” Rosier silenced himself to mull over his thoughts. 

Arc had a serious point. Harry hadn’t necessarily connected Neil and Riddle together. What if he _had_ asked Neil to cast a Crucio? But what would Neil have to gain from that? Surely Riddle hadn’t put him under the Imperious curse? No, Neil hadn't acted oddly enough for that. But, Riddle could certainly have manipulated him, riled him up to duel Harry. To get him to use the Cruciatus Curse though… surely he would have foreseen how terrible an idea that was? That it was too drastic a course of action? 

No, Harry was fairly certain, even if Riddle had goaded Neil into fighting with him, that he wouldn’t have asked him to cast that curse. It was far too reckless. Neil using that curse was unexpected, and Riddle stood to lose far more than he would gain by asking Neil to perform such a curse. 

Riddle would stand to lose far more than he would gain, eh?

Even, say, friends such as Rosier and Nott?

Harry supressed a grin and instead turned it into an expression of distress. 

“Merlin’s trousers, he asked Neil to use the Cruciatus Curse on me!” he carded his hands through his hair and rested them at the nape of his neck. He looked frantically between Arc and Rosier. 

“That nutter,” Arc said under his breath. He dropped his broom against the shelves but it unbalanced itself and clattered to the floor. “He needs to be taught a lesson,”

“Arc! Don’t,” Rosier said, lurching out to catch Arc before he could walk any further.

“Let me go Altair!” Arc said, trying to shimmy out of the other boy’s grip. 

“Arc, he’s right. Please don’t get yourself hurt over me,” Harry called out, moving closer to them. Arc relaxed slightly and pushed himself out of Rosier’s grip. Rosier let him.

“It’s not worth it,” Harry looked down despondently at the floor.

“Harry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise that he would do something like this,” Rosier said emotively. Harry sighed, drooping his shoulders. 

“Oh, it’s alright, how could you have known? If there's one thing I've learned about Riddle, it's that he's slippery. You cannot trust a man that is slippery,” There was a silent concession in the room. 

“To think that he would hate me so much to do something like that,” he shook his head. 

“And you haven’t even done anything!” Nott said huffily. He slammed his hands down onto his hips and began a short pace back and forth. 

“Perhaps that was the point? Harry was sort of thrust upon us by Slughorn. Not that that was a bad thing! But, I would merely like to illuminate the possibility that Riddle wanted to get rid of him,” 

“Well that makes it even worse!” Arc said, throwing his hands skyward. Harry had to agree, Rosier _had_ managed to make it sound even worse. Perfect. 

“I know, you’re right… it really does…” Rosier looked back at Harry sheepishly. “I’m really sorry Harry,” 

Harry knew what for. Because Rosier had wanted the same thing as Riddle. 

He bit his lip.

“It’s alright,” he said, quite honestly. Because it was, at least, it was now. Now, it was necessary to have Rosier on his side. As it always had been really. 

Harry wondered if he were any better than Riddle at all. He was using Arc as a pawn to get to Rosier just as Riddle had. But then, he wasn’t really anymore, was he? He actually liked Arc, a lot. He was brazen and blunt and in some ways bigoted, but he was good at his core and he had the capability to learn how to be better. And that meant something to Harry. 

He shook himself sane. Of course he was better than Riddle. How could he even allow himself to indulge such a thought?

Arc grumbled something, misinterpreting Harry’s movement for a shiver of fear. 

“What?” Rosier asked. 

“I said, I don’t want to associate with Riddle anymore,” he repeated, firmer and louder. Rosier blinked and then looked absently at the middle of the room that Harry and Arc hadn’t even touched yet. 

“Neither do I,” he assented in a small voice. Arc looked at Harry.

“Perhaps we should all not associate with Riddle together,” 

Rosier snapped up his head to look at Harry.

“You- you mean that?” One corner of Harry’s mouth quirked up. 

“Yeah, yeah I do. I can’t say that I have or will ever forget the way you have treated me, but I think I can forgive. I do like you Rosier, I would like to get along with you. And I know how close you and Arc are. I wouldn’t want to stand in between that,” _Anymore, that is,_ he thought. 

Rosier looked at Arc. 

“Well, we do have that mid-section yet to tackle,” 

“That’s true, we really could do with the extra hands,” Harry mused, turning back to his china bird. Rosier tried to eat back his smile but was unsuccessful.

“Oh, would you look at that. I seem to have a wand on me! Whoops!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my chapter summary last week (or whatever you want to call the 'Next time' business), I promised a whole lot more in terms of plot than I actually delivered on in this chapter. The reason why this chapter doesn't follow through with exactly everything is for one simple reason: the chapter was getting way too long. 
> 
> It just felt right to split up the update into two chapters instead of one (and I also haven't finished the second chapter completely, hehe). So, I'm going to upload another chapter on Wednesday... or maybe Thursday... look, we'll go with Wednesday and if I haven't uploaded by then, assume that its coming on Thursday. The second chapter will deliver on the other things that I mentioned in the teaser last time (I couldn't be bothered to write it out again lol). 
> 
> I wanted to get the confessions and the mushy stuff right because that's what makes you love the character's right?
> 
> After reading back over this chapter whilst editing it, I can't help but feel like Harry is turning into a bit of a villain lol. He just feels so insincere compared to Nott and Rosier. What monster have I created! You know, I'll let it pass because I understand that he has a plan to get to and, well, Nott and Rosier do become Death Eaters in his timeline, so they're not entirely angelic either if they have the potential to be a part of that whole shebang (although, for the most part, Nott will only do it to cling onto his friendship with Rosier and Rosier will do it because of peer pressure and to fit in) (and now they probably won't even join, if Harry plays his cards right, so there's that). 
> 
> Nott and Rosier and that whole dynamic of their friendship actually really gets to me because I have been on both ends of friendships like that and to be in Nott's position sucks so so bad. In fact, it has manifested into most of the insecurities I have today. To be in Rosier's position, once you are honest to yourself about what you're doing, you feel like trash and incredibly guilty (and confused as to why you would want to act that way towards such a loyal friend). But sometimes, I think people can be a bit too much and it can become toxic, and that's probably what happened to Rosier and Nott; they were just too much for one another. Anyway, this is a fairly unnecessary comment, but I love making those, so there.
> 
> Alrighty, I'll see you all later in the week, take care and stay safe!
> 
> Ps. Hehe... so... I've been binge writing for the past few hours (the time flew) and I pretty much have the next chapter written (the one that does the rest of the things I said that this chapter would do). And so, I'm going to upload tomorrow ( **Tuesday** ) morning instead. It's too juicy for me to hold onto!   
> K, bye


	19. Dark Star

Harry peeled himself up from the flat of his mattress, vertebrae by vertebrae, so that he was sitting in his bed. He had gotten a lot of sleep last night and it had gone to his head. He could hardly move his fingers through his hair, it was so knotted. The length was really starting to bother Harry now. It tickled too much and it felt brittle. 

He, Arc, and Rosier- Altair, he had asked Harry to call him Altair- finished their cleaning in record time thanks to Altair smuggling in his wand. They returned to the common room after Harry and Arc grabbed their wands from the box charmed to unlock after two hours (which Rosier sped up a little with a quick time charm, fooling it into thinking more time had passed than in reality). 

Riddle and his gang were draped over the couches in front of the fire, as per usual. Riddle had a book propped up on his thighs and a hand rested on his nape. His Gaunt ring glittered in the light of the room. He noticed movement in front of him; Mulciber straightening in his chair and looking towards the entrance. He exhaled and turned, already knowing who to expect. His smile went stale however when he saw who Rosier was with. 

Altair slowed for a moment, registering the company on the couch, and then blinked out a resolution in his head. He kept a measured pace as he powered towards the Men’s dormitory. 

Altair and Arc formed a sort of caravan, covering Harry’s front and back, and escorted him cleanly to their room. Arc sent Riddle a heated glare as he passed. 

Riddle wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but he instinctively knew that it was all Harry’s fault. His eyes and his ring synchronised their menacing glittering. 

He ignored the confusion of those around him and instead stared at the same sentence for just over next ten minutes. Then, he decided to maintain an appearance of calm indifference and turned the page. 

Harry, Altair, and Arc, anticipating some kind of fall-out, prepared themselves for bed all at once. The bathroom felt a lot smaller when you crammed three people into it at the same time, but they managed to avoid major injury as they cleaned themselves up and brushed their teeth. 

In only five minutes, they had managed to prepare themselves for bed, minus getting into their pyjamas, which they had decided to reserve for when they had closed their curtains. 

Altair suggested that they wake up earlier in the morning to avoid meeting with their other roommates but then remembered that Arc was involved and decided against it. Harry had also added that they couldn’t be sure Mulciber or Malfoy wouldn’t get up incredibly early themselves in anticipation of such a tactic (not to mention that Malfoy would have to get up early anyway in order to be gone from the room by the time they had even awoken). 

No, Harry had assured them that they should carry on as normal. Show them that they weren’t going to cower in fear or bend to the will of others. It could be unpleasant, but it would show courage and confidence. 

Now he was beginning to regret his altruism. He forced himself to remove his covers. And he forced himself not to fold and put his clothes on in bed. A show of strength, he reminded himself. A show of strength.

He swished open his curtains and saw that Malfoy, for once, was in the room. He was brushing through his light blond hair with a brush of pure silver. The blue ribbon with silver stitching that he usually wore was strewn on the bed in front of him and across his bent leg. Harry blinked away his stare, which was beginning to unsettle Malfoy.

“Morning Potter,” He bristled at the cold notes and turned to see Mulciber with a plain red-backed novel balanced in between his fingers, sitting on his bed. He had read quite a lot of it already and was seemingly more than halfway through. 

Harry stiffened his lips before saying something that he hadn’t given himself time to consider. 

“Mulciber,” 

He dismantled himself from all further cotton entrapments and jumped onto the floor beside his bed. On Malfoy’s side. 

“I trust that you are well after your stay in the hospital wing?” 

Harry smirked. It wasn’t ‘after Lament attacked you with an Unforgiveable’ but ‘after your stay in the hospital wing’.

“As well as one might expect someone who has been hit with an Unforgivable to be, I suppose,” 

Malfoy began slotting the ribbon into his hair with the temperament of one who was trying to look disinterested in a conversation whilst being completely and utterly engaged in it at the same time. 

“Ah yes, dreadful business, that,” 

“Quite,” 

Altair exited the bathroom with a comb in hand and looked between Mulciber and Harry with bright eyes. His shoulders sagged in relief to see that Harry was awake and that he was no longer completely alone to hold the torch for team 'we don't like you anymore'. 

“Good morning Harry,”

“Good morning Altair,” Harry registered the stiffening of Mulciber on his left and his smile grew broader. “You look well this morning,” 

Altair flicked his eyes over to Mulciber and then he looked over at Harry again. He took refuge in the friendliness of his green eyes. He smiled weakly.

“Don’t know if I can say the same for you. What happened to your hair?” Harry looked up under his lashes to the strands of hair dipping into his vision. 

“10 hours of sleep?” Altair chuckled and held out his arm, the comb installed at its end. 

“Go on, you need it more than I,” Harry looked between 'it' and Altair.

“You sure? I might break it,” 

“Then I seem to have another Arc on my hands, I suppose,” the arm remained firm and resolute. Harry walked over and pinched it free from Altair's hand by the thin spine running along its back and from which its teeth grew.

“Thanks,” Altair smiled in response, looking up through his lashes at him due to their difference in height (of just over an inch). 

“Arc is still not awake, would you mind waking him for me?” 

Harry blinked. Oh, he hadn't expected that.

“I’m tired of getting my head bitten off by him all the time; its a strain to put it back on again. Perhaps we should split the responsibility from now on, what do you say?” 

Harry looked over his shoulder discretely. Whilst he hadn’t a clear view, he could tell by his body language that Mulciber was in shock. Harry smiled at Altair. _Oh Altair, you are a smart one_ , he thought. 

“And what a responsibility that is. I would be honoured to lighten the load for you Altair,” he said with a flourish, sticking Altair’s comb into a clump of his hair for safe keeping. To Altair’s dismay, it stayed. 

“Gosh, when we go to Hogsmeade next, I am bringing you to a barbers,” Harry chuckled and sauntered over to Nott’s bed. He pulled out his wand from a holder encircling his wrist. He had made it a habit to sleep with his wand ages ago and hadn’t found enough reason to break that habit just yet. 

“Lumos!” he called out after sticking his arm into Nott’s bed. 

“AH! I’m awake!” Harry pulled back, surprised. Nott’s curtains swung open and the room was left to behold a sloppily dressed Nott in just his shirt and trousers. His tie was draped like a scarf around his neck. 

Ah, so he had succumbed to the temptation. 

He stepped out of bed grumpily and accidentally dropped his pullover to the floor. He bent down and flapped the creases out of it with an award-winning sulk. 

“You’re up early,” Harry stated. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Go on, you can go first,” Arc said, gesturing to the bathroom. 

“Righty-oh,” Harry said, turning away jovially. 

“Oh, and Arc?” Arc looked up at him from his trousers, which were causing him a spot of trouble. 

“Yes?” 

“Your trousers are inside out,” 

“Oh, that’s why- Oi, stop laughing!” 

He picked up a sock to fling at Harry who was laughing haughtily at Arc’s expense. Harry ducked behind the bathroom door before it could hit him and he closed it to avoid any future assaults. He leaned against it and heard a faint grumble of a voice on the other side. It was probably Arc picking up his sock. 

Harry smiled to himself. 

Unfortunately, it was very hard to avoid walking to the Great Hall without having Mulciber and Malfoy hanging over them, so they were forced to return any polite advances with polite rejections. By the time they reached the top of the dungeon stairs, Mulciber was in a fouler mood and Malfoy was off with the fairies (of course, not literally. He couldn't think any anything worse than willingly passing time with a bunch of nymphs). 

Mulciber's mood picked up once he saw the entrance to the Great Hall at last and he began striding over to the Slytherin side of the hall. Malfoy followed him at a much more leisurely pace. Harry slowed and Arc and Altair mimicked him.

“What should we do? Where should we sit?” Altair asked. 

“How about we sit at the back?” Arc proposed, shuffling to feet to take of in that direction. Harry held up a hand.

“Wait…” 

His eyes searched the Gryffindor table for a boy with hair the colour of dark Sahara sand. There; seated towards the middle of the table!

“I know a place where we can sit,” 

Altair and Arc trailed him, confused as to why they were turning in the direction of the Gryffindor table. Altair was the first one to voice a complaint.

“Harry, why are we walking to the Gryffindor table?”

“I know some people there. I’ve sat with them before. They’re great, you’ll love them,”

Before he could complain any further, Harry stopped behind a red-head Altair had never seen before in all his life, and swopped in over his shoulder. 

“Room for a few extra bodies?” he said, pinching a scone from a platter in front of Sam. Sam jumped.

“Jesus, Harry, you scared the life out of me!”

“’Fraid I don’t have the esteemed company of him today. Will these two do instead?” 

He gestured behind himself as he mounted the empty seat beside Sam. Sam had to do a double-take before he could fully register who they were. 

“Oh my god, Altair Rosier and Arcturus Nott,”

“Wonderful, you know them. Half the battle then,” Harry looked back at Altair and Arc. They could be read like children who had been dragged over by their mother to say hello to one of her friends. He gestured to Sam with his scone.

“Gentlemen, this is Sam Bentley,”

“Not related to the car,” he said, as he extended his hand first to Altair and then Arc. He kept stealing glances at Harry, but didn't offer much help. He was too busy smiling at the resulting confusion on Arc and Altair's respective faces from Sam’s muggle reference. 

They both sat down beside Harry, on his right. Arc made sure to elbow Harry to make a point but Harry just raised his eyebrows and passed him the plate with the breads on it. 

“So, what brings you all over here?” Sam asked, buttering a scone and piling it full of strawberry jam. Harry reached out for the raspberry with an indifferent shrug.

“Oh, change of scenery, mostly. I also don’t really feel comfortable over there, what with recent events,” Sam’s knife clattered to his plate. 

“Oh my god, I’m such a horrible numpty! I haven’t even asked you how you are! I only heard that you were in the hospital wing during Charms and then I had a blasted Ancient Runes class. By the time I got to there to visit you, you were gone. Discharged,” 

“Oh,” 

Harry looked over his shoulder with a confused brow. He could hardly stop himself. Had the rumour mill broken down? He would have expected the whole school to have caught onto the news that he had been cursed with an Unforgiveable by breakfast time; as they had when it was announced that he was a Potter. 

Of course, the rumour mill could have purposely broken down. 

His eyes accidentally drifted from Avery to Riddle and he was locked against his will into a pair of hard walnut eyes. He leapt into action, constructing Occlumency shields as best as he could, but he found not even a breath of resistance against them. Odd, he was sure he had felt something ripple within him. Something that had sounded like an alarm bell.

Riddle’s eyes seemed focused only on him, as if he were the only other thing in the room. As if he wanted Harry to fall and sink into the deep brown of his eyes. And drown. 

“So, how are you?”

Harry snapped himself away from Riddle and back to Sam. It felt like reality had given him a sharp slap in the face.

“O-oh I’m well. No long-term damage done,”

“Good, I was really worried,” Harry smiled and then looked to his other side. Arc and Altair were silent and withdrawn, picking at their food. His smile dropped.

“Where are the others, Sam?” Harry asked, sinking his teeth measuredly into his scone, which he had decided to eat plain, like a mad man. 

“They’re out on the Quidditch pitch. They have a match next week; this Saturday coming,”

“Oh that’s right. They’re on the Gryffindor team, aren’t they?”

“Yep. Matthew is a Chaser, Mary-Ann is a Keeper, Richie’s a Chaser as well, and Mike’s a Beater,”

“What about Lilian?”

“Oh, she’s a self-proclaimed manager, so she organises things and… well, does other things that managers do. Wouldn’t do to have us eating alone together anyways,”

“You mean, all your friends are on the Quidditch team and yet, you are not?” Altair said, with both his fork and knife placed perfectly in either hand. 

Sam paused and Harry was worried that he had somehow taken offense at what Altair had said. But then he chuckled.

“Yeah, you’d swear I had a thing for Quidditch people. But I don’t even really like the sport,”

“Would I make things awkward if I said that I’m a Quidditch person?” Harry said, grinning in anticipation for Sam’s expression. It did end up being funny.

“You are!?”

“He’s on the Slytherin team,” Arc said, before sliding a large chunk of toast between his teeth.

“You are?”

“Well, I was. Not so sure anymore,”

“Oh yeah, Lament…” Sam looked at the spread on the table meekly to avoid seeing Harry’s face, afraid that he was upset. 

“Perhaps we should go out and watch them play?” Altair proposed, trying to lighten the mood. Harry smiled at him. He smiled back.

“That sounds like a good idea! I hate having to watch them alone, but I have to be seen to be a supportive friend and all, so I end up having to bring a school book to pass the time. It’s a woeful waste of my Saturday mornings,”

“Wonderful, I’ll do a bit of spying for the Slytherin team then,”

“Harry, you twat, you’d better not! They’ll crucify me!”

Harry, Sam, Altair, and Arc headed out after their light breakfast to the Quidditch pitch. It was a wonderfully warm morning and they didn’t need their cloaks at all. The air was so fresh that it improved everyone’s mood, even if they didn’t know it needed improving. 

The pitch itself was a hive of activity but the bleachers weren’t, so they had the choice of any seat they wanted. They ended up sitting in the middle, so they had the best view and Harry made sure to seat them up high, so they could see all the dips and dives properly. 

The Gryffindor team were really good, almost as good as when he was on the team. For all that they were messers at mealtimes, Sam’s friends were serious and swift on the field. They were strong, but their accuracy was lacking slightly, in Harry’s humble opinion. Mary-Ann was a phenomenal Keeper though; Sam said that she was pegged to go professional after she left school, and Harry could see why. The Hufflepuffs would have a hard time getting a Quaffle past her next Saturday. 

It wasn’t a morning without discomfort however, as he noticed Avery and Dolohov slink into some of the inconspicuous lower benches. He was pretty sure the other members of his party hadn’t noticed them, but Avery and Dolohov, creeps that they were, did notice him. He had been stuck in a staring contest with Avery for longer than he felt proud to admit. 

Avery and Dolohov left before the practise had finished up and so remained undetected by all except Harry. He masked his offensive grumblings about them with a cough when he caught Arc looking at him oddly. 

By lunch time, Arc and Altair had warmed up considerably to the group, despite there being a muggleborn and a halfblood amongst the lot. It wasn’t even an issue for them, Harry was pleased to report to himself. 

They engaged in conversation, even if they were slightly more conservative than usual, and shared stories from their past that even Harry hadn’t heard before. There was one in particular about a Gnome and a broomstick that had Sam practically rolling on the floor. He had even confessed to Harry that he had initially been a little apprehensive of the two, given their standing with Riddle, but that they turned out to be 'the bee’s knees’.

But Harry just couldn’t gift himself a moment of peace and kept looking over at the Slytherin benches. Lestrange and Dolohov had moved into the gaps once presided by Harry, Nott and Rosier, but they had spaced themselves out too obviously for it to look natural. They looked as if they were compensating for something. 

Time and time again, Harry brushed past Riddle’s eyes, and time and time again, he’d avert his. He couldn’t have them connecting again, not after the feeling he had experienced this morning. 

He wondered what the conversations over at Riddle’s table were like. Was it business as usual? The British Stiff Upper Lip in action? 

Or did they feel the loss? Did it hurt to feel bested? Did it hurt to see all your hard work unravel, huh, Riddle? How loyal will your dogs be if you’re not big enough to feed them anymore?

After lunch, Harry, Altair, and Arc left the Gryffindors and returned to their common room. Once there, they gathered up the books of whatever subject was their most pressing and they set off once more to brave the library. 

Harry had acquainted himself with the slightly modified layout of the library quite well by this stage. He had had more than enough time to enjoy the new twists and quirks that the library had to offer, given that he had a free period almost every second class (okay, that wasn’t necessarily true, but it sure felt like it). 

What hadn’t changed about the library was that wonderful mindset you got into once you passed through its doors: Harry was convinced that was eternal. That feeling that time seemed to pass slower there than anywhere else on earth and that the possibilities of knowledge were endless.

Perhaps this was why, as they found some seats in a neat little corner of the room, he felt so uninspired to do his school work. As he stared over the Herbology notes he had brought, he couldn’t stop thinking about that star. That shooting star that had consigned him to his fate in 1940s Britain. 

How did it bring him here? Did it bring him here? Was it possible for a star to do such a thing? Could he get it to bring him back when he wanted to go back? 

Harry excused himself from the table and weaved his way through the bookshelves to a unit towards the back of the main library. This was where the Astrology books were, stuffed into the latter end of a bookcase. He sighed through his nose and set his fingers about the spines of all the books, trying to decipher if any were suitable for his requirements.

Five books in, and he was pretty sure that his search would be fruitless. Besides a nifty collection of constellations and elaborately named asteroids, the Astronomy books were a woeful disappointment. Glorified picture books with explanations in the tiniest font they could possibly find and yet they still managed to be too heavy to hold with one hand. 

After slotting the last book he was bothered to flick through into its original place, he turned his head absently so that he could see the rope blocking off the restricted section to the younger students.

Hang on, what if what he had done with the star was related to Dark magic? The thought brought a pang to his heart, but he had to admit to himself that it was entirely possible. Dark magic could be insanely powerful after all, but it often came with a hefty price tag. What kind of price had Harry paid to perform his spell?

Harry was prepared to drop this line of enquiry and go back to studying about Mandrakes, but he also knew that he would not be able to rest until he at least investigated the possibility that whatever he was looking for was in the restricted section. 

Harry tentatively approached the barrier and swung a leg over the rope. There was no one around, but he knew that sixth and seventh years were allowed to access the section without permission from a teacher. To check out a book they still needed permission, but browsing was tolerated and reading within the confines of the section was permitted as well. 

He advanced, checking each row of shelves for a sign reading ‘Astronomy’. He found it, in typical fashion, at the back corner of the room against the wall. Overhead was a window that cast an eerie shadow of bright white light into the section. 

He searched for something that related itself to star magic, running along the gnarled at cracked spines with his fingertips. On the second shelf, seventh from the left, he found what he was looking for. 

He snagged it out in a rush and swung back the cover so that he could divulge the contents. 

About a quarter of the way through, he heard a voice, a very familiar and silky voice that somehow sounded silkier after being deprived of it for so long.

“’Harnessing the Power of the Stars’?”

Harry froze and then raised his eyes from a detailed paragraph on improving your crops by chanting in the moonlight and facing a certain constellation covered in Goblin blood. 

Tom Riddle, with his Head Boy badge winking seductively in the light of the sun, was standing about three feet away from him at the end of the bookcase. The light from the window bathed him so that his skin shone like a pearl, his hair sparkled, and his eyes were lightened so that you could make out the faintest outline of a pupil. 

“It is a good read, however I’d suggest a gander at ‘Stars and their Majesty’. The author has a much better flow, doesn’t waffle, and quite frankly, the rituals are less messy,” 

Tom went to advance, but Harry held out his book to block him from coming any closer. He quirked an eyebrow.

“What are you doing here?” 

Riddle scrunched his brows together a little and then pulled back into a more elegant stance about a metre closer to Harry than when he had started. 

“What, in the restricted section? Research, much the same as you, I’d suppose,” he said, beginning to move forward again. Harry shook his book in what he hoped was a threatening gesture, but from the way that Riddle tried to dampen a smile, he suspected it hadn’t quite worked as he had hoped. 

“Why here?” 

“Here?” 

“Cut the bull, Riddle. You followed me, didn’t you?” Riddle’s face alighted an expression that seemed to say that he knew something Harry didn’t. He again took a moment to sober himself up before answering Harry, all the while remaining annoyingly devoted to charm. 

“Harry, I take Astrology,” Harry’s aggressor stance weakened and the elbow of his arm holding out the book bent slightly. 

“You… you do?” 

“Yes,” Riddle said, flashing a self-satisfied grin. “That’s why I’m in the **Astrology** section,”

“Oh,” Harry mumbled, lowering his book entirely. Well, that aggression hadn’t aged well, had it? 

“You on the other hand,” Riddle began, coming a bit closer whilst Harry had his guard down. “I know for a fact that you don’t take Astrology. What are _you_ doing in the Astrology section, Harry?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. So, he was back to calling him Harry again, eh? Not Potter?

“Research, much the same as you I suppose,” Harry snarked, sliding his book back into place. Riddle chuckled in amusement. 

He suddenly seemed quite close. When had he gotten so close? 

“Um, excuse me,” Harry mumbled, intending to slip past Riddle and back to his cosy nook where Altair and Arc were. But he was stopped by a slender, ivory hand. Hovering over his chest. 

Harry was about to run his mouth off, but was handed a thin purple book before he could get a word out. 

“I think that you’ll find this one much more useful,” Riddle said somewhere close to the vicinity of Harry’s right ear. Harry turned his head to see why Riddle was practically on top of him, and saw that it was because he was plucking a book of his own from the top shelf. His limbs stretched to reach it and for a brief moment, Harry was worried that Riddle might fall on him. But he didn’t. 

“Are you done?” Harry asked, raking his forehead with agitated wrinkles as he eyebrows ascended. Riddle blinked at him and kept a smug, crooked smile dancing on his mouth.

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, resettling his feet on the floor. 

Harry flicked up a glare to him under his lashes (although their was hardly any difference in their height).

“Alright, well, I’m leaving,”

“Oh? What’s wrong? I thought we were having a rather pleasant conversation?” Riddle said, pouting. Harry shook his head with an incredulous look in his eyes.

“What about our exchange so far has been pleasant?” he asked. 

Riddle titled his head from side to side, as if he were watching a rewind of their conversation up until that point. 

“Well, it was getting there,” 

“Where!?”

“To the pleasant bit,”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, of course. Why; do you think it couldn’t?” Harry was so shocked by the man’s obtuseness that he laughed.

“Call me crazy but, yes; I don't think it could in the slightest. And I don’t think you think that it could either,”

“What makes you say that? I was rather looking forward to talking to you,” Harry arched an eyebrow. Was Riddle even trying anymore?

“You were?”

“Yes, I was,” 

“I’m sorry, is the sky falling right now?” 

“I don’t think so, would you like me to check?” 

Harry groaned in frustration. 

“Ugh, I’m leaving,”, Harry said, pushing past Riddle who was fermenting the most wonderful odour. It was that damn cologne again. 

“No, no. Alright, I’m sorry,” Riddle said, laying a firm yet non-confrontational hand on Harry’s arm. Harry blamed his hesitation on a primal desire of his to get a further whiff of that lemon-and-lime spice. 

He looked reluctantly at Riddle. 

“Perhaps I went too far with my jokes,” he said. Harry only dignified him with a twitchy response. 

“But, I did really want to chat with you,”

“About?” Harry said, exasperated. 

“How you were,” the hand on his arm reduced to a whisper of a touch. There was so much care stuffed into those eyes of Riddle’s that Harry lost himself for a moment in silent thought. Then he remembered who he was talking to. 

“You mean, how I am post-Cruciatus Curse?” Riddle nodded sympathetically, dropping his hand altogether. He probably thought that he had Harry, that Harry wouldn’t leave now that he threw a bit of consideration his way.

But Harry wasn’t a dog fighting for scraps, so he started walking away.

“Where are you going? Don’t you want to talk?”

“No,” Harry said, rounding the corner of the bookcase. 

“Why not?” Riddle asked, starting to follow him. 

Harry focused on the exit; the roped barrier. 

“You know that you can’t leave without checking your book out, right Harry? And that you can’t check a book out without a teacher’s permission?”

It was said so simply and so innocently that it managed to infuriate Harry even more. He was almost prepared to vault the rope, but had enough sanity remaining to stop himself. He closed his eyes, let a chute of air out from his nose, and then turned on his heels. 

He made a point not to react to the smug look on Riddle’s face; it would just lead to further conflict, which would lead to further conversation, which Harry explicitly did not want. 

He approached the bookcase and looked around furiously for the spot where Riddle had removed the book from. He tried to ignore the slinking presence of Riddle on his left and so, practically jumped out of his skin when a hand grazed his. It helped to guide the opus into a space that Harry was angry he had glossed over. It was right at eye-level, for God’s sake. 

As if he weren’t humiliated enough, Riddle’s cologne was starting to calm his nerves as it wafted over his shoulder. Seriously, what was he wearing? A potion? A mind-controlling potion?

“Please, Harry. I only want to know that you are alright,” he said quietly. Harry scoffed a laugh, refusing to turn around as he knew how close that would make them. 

“What, to heal a guilty conscience?”

“Of course not, Harry. What could possibly possessed you to think that?”

“Oh, let’s see…” The cologne was so strong that Harry felt the only way to negate its effects would be to see Riddle’s face. Then he’d be reminded of how much he hated the owner of that cologne and then (hopefully), he’d learn to hate it. 

So, he turned around. And boy, had he been right about Riddle being close (though Riddle did give him the curtesy of taking a half step back).

“Perhaps the fact that it was you who publicized the fact that I was a Potter to the entire school? Perhaps that’s why I find you a little suspicious? I really couldn’t put my finger on it,” Riddle’s face grew a tad more sombre, more calculating. He assessed Harry with his eyes in a flicking, quick motion. 

“Who told you that?” 

Harry smiled ruefully.

“Oh come on Riddle, you know who,” Riddle looked away momentarily, somewhat in the direction of where Rosier and Nott were sitting. Ha, so he **had** seen them enter the library! And he had the gumption to evoke Harry's embarrassment by making him believe he was paranoid for guessing that he had been followed!

“Don't play the innocent virgin, Riddle. We both know that you did it,” Riddle flicked his eyes back to Harry. Then he straightened his head and considered Harry from down his nose.

“You seem to have me cast as a baddie in that head of yours. I wonder if there is anything I could say to change that opinion of me,” Harry grinned and looked at the way to his escape.

“Oh, I don’t know Riddle, you tell me,” he met his eyes again. They were a lot colder than before. Good, that meant the mask had been loosened. 

Riddle looked down at the floor to gather his thoughts.

“You seem to have a vendetta against me from the start. Why is that?” he met Harry’s eyes again. Harry readied his Occlumency shield for potential intrusion. 

“I think you’re straying from the topic on purpose, Riddle. What, can’t tell me the truth? What are you so afraid of?” Harry finished in a cruel hiss. 

Riddle hardly blinked, he just kept looking at Harry. Harry wondered if he would snap. But then he did something confusing; he smiled. 

“I suppose neither one of us will concede here. Alright, I’ll leave you be,” Riddle pulled away, taking that smell with him. Harry blinked in shock, feeling symptoms of sudden withdrawal from the intensity of their conversation. 

“Wait,” Harry said, but Riddle didn’t stop. “Wait!” he said a little louder. Riddle slowed so agonising close to the edge of the bookcase that Harry had thought he would disappear. Riddle slowly turned back around.

“You should lower your tone,” he said with a smile. “We are in a library after all,”

“Well, perhaps I wouldn’t have to raise my tone if it weren’t for you running away from me!” Harry said in a shouted whisper, closing the gap between them. 

“I thought that you wanted me to leave you alone?” 

“Not when you’re going to tell me how you found out about me being a Potter,” 

He had to determine the source of the leak. 

Riddle quirked a beautifully dark brow. 

“How about this,” he said, stepping closer to Harry. “I’ll tell you want you want to know if you tell me why you hate me so much,” 

Harry persisted: “I know that Avery is your secret vault. Was it him, did he find it out and tell you?” But Riddle had a damn good poker face and wasn’t letting anything slip. 

Harry bit his lip. Then he groaned. 

“Fine! Fine! I’ll tell you why I hate you,” Riddle’s face split into a triumphant, almost juvenile, smile. “But you have to tell me how you found out I was a Potter first,”

Riddle nodded silently, taming his smile. 

“You were right. Avery told me,” Harry cursed under his breath.

“How the hell did he find out?” 

Riddle tilted his head from side to side again.

“Oh, his little sister told him. Do you remember her? Avery’s little sister in first year?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

“How the hell did she find out?”

“Apparently from your very lips,” Riddle said. Harry blanched. That couldn’t be-

“Oh my God,”

“Yes, I was told that you introduced yourself as ‘Harry Potter’ to the gamekeeper,” Harry groaned and hid his face in his hands. 

“Hum, for such an important secret, you definitely let it out in the most careless way,” Harry groaned again in response.

“Now, for my wish,” 

Harry removed his face from his hands.

“What?” 

Riddle tutted.

“Surely you can’t have forgotten already? You are supposed to tell me why you hate me,” Harry withdrew his elbows to his sides.

“I am?” his arms dropped entirely. “I am,” 

Riddle hummed in amused agreement, as if the humble workings of Harry’s mind entertained him greatly. 

“Well,” Harry looked off to the side. “It’s quite simple really,”

“Yes?” Harry looked back at his face. It was perfect, but irritating. It was dazzling, but arrogant. Whilst most people failed to understand their worth, this man overvalued his. Harry felt his face draw up in a sneer. 

“I hate people like you,” Riddle raised his eyebrows in mock hurt. Which just fuelled Harry’s anger further.

“I hate people who think the world revolves around them. That everything is for them. That everyone is for them, theirs to play with. Theirs to torment. I hate people who hurt others to move up in the world. I hate people whose happiness depends on the destruction or oppression of others and I especially hate those who choose hate over love!”

Riddle was still for a moment, absorbing all that torrent of information. Harry focused on rescuing his breathing which had gone off the rails. When he managed to calm it, Riddle smiled. 

“Sit with us again at dinner,” 

Harry short-circuited slightly. 

“I’m- I’m sorry, what?”

“Sit with us again at dinner,” Riddle said more slowly, as if Harry was going to understand him any clearer. 

“I just told you that I hate you,”

“Well, that’s not entirely accurate. You said that you hate people _like_ me,” 

Harry let out a noise of indignation.

“Fine then, I hate you. That accurate enough?” Riddle smiled at him as if he were a petulant child. 

“Sit with us at dinner,” 

“No, why should I?” Harry said, pushing past him and into the open space of the restricted section’s atrium. 

“Because being a friend of the Head Boy is beneficial. And being friends with Tom Riddle is even more so,” Riddle said over his shoulder. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to turn around. 

And then Harry berated himself for turning around to see whether Riddle had turned around or not. 

“Oh, and that’s supposed to persuade me, is it?” 

“If you’re smart, yes,” Riddle then decided to turn, but more so because it would be awkward for Harry to continue chatting to his back than as a sign of respect.

“Well, it’s a bad thing that I’m not smart then,” 

Harry began to walk away.

“I thought you were supposed to be in Ravenclaw,”

“And yet, here I am!” 

It was left unspoken, but Harry knew Riddle was itching to call out after him: ‘think about it’.

Luckily for Harry, he couldn’t shout it because they were in a library. 

Unluckily for Harry, he was in a library; the ideal place to think about things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. Take it away from me; I don't want to see it anymore! 
> 
> Just want to give you guys a heads up that I'm not going to be uploading next week, but I'll be back on 24 August with a chapter for ye all. 
> 
> Next time, expect to see Harry contemplating Riddle's offer and other stuff that I'm not sure of yet.
> 
> See you guys in two week's time!


	20. Peace in our time.

After much deliberation, Harry decided to introduce Riddle’s deal to Rosier and Nott. As expected, they weren’t too mad about it.

“I’m sorry, I think my ears might have warped slightly, because I could have sworn you just said that Riddle asked you to sit with him at dinner,” 

“You heard me correctly, Arc,”

He stared at Harry with a slack jaw (which was highly unusual for Arc and slightly terrifying). Harry then looked over to Altair who was deep in contemplation. 

“I-I… I can’t believe that,” 

“Well, it happened,” 

“I refuse to believe that,”

“What did he say exactly?” Altair said, leaning over his forearms, which he had folded across his book. Harry leaned in closer as well.

“As I said: ‘Sit with us at dinner again’,” Altair pulled back slightly, perhaps for air, and then returned to his position. 

“So, he wants to invite you back into the fold?” 

“Well I don’t know about that; it’s just dinner,” Altair gave him a look.

“Harry, it’s not _just_ dinner; it’s dinner _again_. That means repeatedly, as in indefinitely,”

“Indefinitely?”

“Well more or less. It could be argued that the casualness implies he has conditions, but all in all, Riddle wants to have you in his circle again,”

“Well, if that isn’t the most insane-! He can hardly expect you to say yes after the way he treated you!” 

Harry was tempted to mention that Arc and Altair hadn’t treated him all that well either but didn’t want to weaken Arc’s point at the same time. 

“What did you say exactly?” Altair said, tilting his head backwards so that he could get a better study of Harry.

“Well, something along the lines of no,” 

“Something _along_ the lines of no?” Arc said, voice raising slightly. Luckily, they had chosen a relatively deserted part of the library, so they weren’t raising too many hairs, but in a quiet space, noise tends to travel. Harry gave him a cautionary look (which Arc rejected, but Harry had the comfort of knowing that he had at least tried). 

“I think I asked him why I should accept his invitation,”

“What, so that he could negotiate terms with you? Why would you say that?” Arc said, voice full of the exacerbated variety of wonder.

“I didn’t say it to ‘negotiate terms’, it was more like a ‘why should I possibly do that’?” 

Harry was slightly taken aback by Arc’s sustained disgust.

“What?! What would you have me say then?”

“ _No_! Flat out rejection! No room for terms!”

“He didn’t even give me terms!” Harry said in a frenzied whisper. “He just spouted crap about how it was beneficial to be his friend,”

“Well, obviously you’re not going to sit with him,” Arc said, turning back to his books to avoid any further attempts on the topic. 

“Obviously,” Harry turned back to his own book, though he was far too agitated to make sense out of any of the words on his page. Altair was the only one to keep his head raised. 

“Maybe you should take him up on his offer,” 

Arc and Harry raised their heads in tandem.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Why?”

“Well,” Altair began, “Riddle is Head Boy and, quite frankly, he is Riddle. He is a good person to be friends with,” 

Harry narrowed his eyes. That was exactly what Riddle had said. 

“And why on earth does that matter?” Arc asked.

“Well, if Riddle himself asks you to be his friend, that’s something. Mulciber was the one who invited the both of us,”

“You, you mean,”

“Wait a second, Mulciber was the one who invited you guys to sit with them, not Riddle?” Harry chipped in over Arc’s mumbling.

“If it weren’t for him, we probably would never have sat with them,”

Harry doubted that; there was no way Mulciber would be given that much autonomy to invite whomever he wanted to sit with him at a whim. He was sure that Mulciber had been ordered to invite them by Riddle. 

So, it was strange to be contacted by Riddle directly then? Interesting.

“Very interesting,” Harry muttered under his breath. 

“I still don’t understand why Harry should accept his offer,”

“Well, Harry isn’t going to be wooed by Riddle, is he? He knows who Riddle is. What he can do. He won’t make the mistake of getting stars in his eyes. He can use Riddle for his own advantage,”

“Well, fine. But why would Riddle want to be Harry’s friend?”

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s incredibly suspicious. After all that effort to get Neil to curse you. Surely all of that meant that he was trying to drive Harry away. Why does he suddenly want to pull him close now?”

“That’s what I was wondering,” 

Harry felt violated by the eyes on him, but especially by Altair’s. Altair seemed to be incredibly suspicious. Perhaps Harry hadn’t quite won him over as much as he had hoped to. 

“All the more reason for Harry to accept the offer. So that he can find clues as to why,” Altair’s eyes thankfully lifted and Harry felt a lot lighter. 

“Well, I’m not sitting with the Gryffindors without Harry being there. We need a mediator,” 

“Perhaps we should join Harry,” they both looked at Harry for what he interpreted as guidance. Harry took a breath and tried to grab onto a coherent line of thought.

“Perhaps not. Riddle did only invite me after all. Perhaps there is a reason for that. Let me suss him out first, then I’ll know whether we should trust him or not,”

“Oh, Harry we’ll never be able to trust Riddle. He’s far too many steps ahead for that,”

Harry, Arc, and Altair entered the Great Hall together. After a brief glance from Harry, Altair and Arc dispatched to the right, where a Ravenclaw from their Arithmancy class was seated at his designated table. Harry continued moving, registering from the corner of his eye that they were sitting down and grabbing some bread rolls from the trays in front of them. If he stuck around to see what kind of rolls, he was sure that he would lose his resolve, so he continued a measured and confident stride over to the Slytherin table. 

He tried to preoccupy himself from the stares as he moved further down the table by predicting what bread they would have chosen. Arc seemed to really like bread made with white flour and he had a morbid fascination with seeds. Altair was more of a rustic bread type of guy and often reached for soda bread if it was around. 

By the time Harry reached Riddle’s table, he hadn’t any nerves left in his system. However, when he realised that Riddle was staring at him, and probably had been doing so for a while, they made a grand effort at returning. 

“Harry, you came!” Riddle said with a pearly grin, his incisors sharp like fangs. 

“Would have been rude to turn down such a generous offer,” Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Riddle sheathed his teeth and looked over Harry’s shoulder. 

“Are Rosier and Nott not joining us this evening?”

“Oh, they are much too busy with Arithmancy homework, I’m afraid. Besides, I was under the impression that your invitation was only extended to me. Am I not enough?” Harry raised his eyebrows and delivered a cuttingly cheeky smile. 

Riddle did not move for a moment but then supplied a wicked smile of his own.

“I do hope so,” 

He extended a hand out to the spot opposite him at the table; the place once occupied by Harry. 

Harry eyed it for a moment and then lowered himself there. 

“Hello Harry. I do hope that you are alright,” Lestrange said quietly, from beside him. He had shuffled closer so that Harry and Harry alone would hear him. 

It took Harry a moment to smile in response. Lestrange had an extra line of worry on his forehead when he looked at Harry. If Harry didn’t know any better, he would have said that Lestrange actually _cared_ about his welfare. 

Well, that was refreshing.

A purple and gold book was brought into his vision around his dessert spoon. A book entitled: ‘Stars and their Majesty’. 

Harry looked up at Riddle.

“What’s this?” 

“Consider it a peace offering,”

“A peace offering?”

“That is what I said,”

“A peace offering for what exactly?” Harry narrowed his eyes. He was getting tired of all the smoke and mirrors Riddle always employed.

Riddle opened his mouth and then averted his eyes to his half full plate on the table. 

“We were all rather harsh on you when we heard of your lineage. And I believe that I speak for all of us when I say that we regret our actions. Especially that we did naught to stop that fight when we should have,”

“You regret your actions?” Harry scrunched his napkin in his hand.

“Of course. The moment Neil cast that curse on you, we realised just how harmful our treatment of you had been. You see, people in the Slytherin house can sometimes be overprotective of themselves and they can forget their morals, and pick on those who are… isolated,”

“I see,” Harry said, making no intention of accepting Riddle’s book yet.

“I keep thinking that if we had just handled the situation in a more refined manner, well, your circumstance could have been avoided,” 

Harry interlocked his fingers and gave Riddle a critical once over. 

What he thought Riddle was trying to say under all that language was that; if you fell out with Riddle, people assumed you were dead meat to vulture upon. He wanted to remind Harry of that. 

“I’m sure it could have, but I thankfully am no longer isolated,” Riddle’s eyes flicked over to the Ravenclaw table behind Harry.

“Ah, yes. You have become friendly with Rosier and Nott,” 

“Yes,” A smile spread itself onto Harry’s face. “Altair and Arc have been wonderful companions to me,” 

“You’re calling them by their first names?” Mulciber blurted out in the midst of chewing.

“Yes. As Riddle said, we have become **quite** friendly these past few days,” 

“Hm…” Riddle’s eyes flicked down the book still resting in front of Harry’s empty plate. “How lovely that you have found some comfort in them,”

"I… suppose so,” 

“And I noticed that you were friendly with some Gryffindors as of late?” Riddle looked to his food, picking out something that wouldn’t require much time to munch. 

“One tries to spread one’s circles,” 

Harry eyed the breadbasket in front of him. Surely a bite of something couldn’t hurt.

“I see. Rosier and Nott not enough for you?” 

“… I do hope not,” Riddle’s mouth grew into a sharp grin. 

Harry looked down at the book in front of him, attracted to its sparkling font. 

“This book was in the restricted section,” he looked back up to a waiting Riddle. “How did you get it?”

Riddle smiled and popped something that his fork had found into his mouth. Harry hated that he had to wait for the other boy to finish chewing before he could speak. Typical, dramatic Riddle.

“Why, I checked it out of course,” 

“You did?” 

“Do you think that I hid it in my robes? Of course I checked it out,”

“So, you had permission to check it out?”

“Well, not initially perhaps,”

“Not initially?”

“I have my methods,”

“Must they be so mysterious?” Riddle paused and slowly mushed whatever he had in his mouth with his molars. Then he eased himself into a smile.

“My methods aren’t all that mysterious to begin with, so you’ll have to forgive me if I wish to maintain a bit of pizzazz where I can,” He refilled Harry’s plate with the exact bread roll Harry had been subtly eyeing. 

“I’m sure anyone could do what I _do_ , but perhaps not everyone would be successful,” 

He looked at Harry and his eyes unabashedly conveyed the dominance he was capable of. The ease of it, rather embarrassingly, shocked Harry into silence. 

“Harry, I would like to personally apologise to you as well,” Harry slid his eyes over to Avery, a welcome distraction. 

Avery straightened in his seat, sparing a glance at Riddle before he spoke again.

“I demoted you from your position as team Seeker when you hardly deserved it. The truth is, I thought I was doing the right thing by reinstating Neil as Seeker. He had been our Seeker for years and I thought that perhaps I was allowing my affections for you to cloud my judgement,”

“You were afraid of nepotism?” Harry said, completely deadpan. 

“Yes,” Avery let out slowly. “I suppose I was. Even though you were a phenomenal player, you were also my friend,”

“I was your friend?” Harry repeated, raising an unimpressed brow. Avery’s eyes darkened slightly around his pupil.

“Yes, you were. At least I liked to think so,” he took a breath. “And I hope that we can be again. That our relationship has not been damaged too much,” 

He lowered his head and shook it slightly. Harry eyed his display distastefully. 

“I can’t help but feel responsible for Neil’s behaviour,” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, if I hadn’t given him that position again, he would never have felt the urge to do that,”

“Oh, you think it was that that pushed him over the edge, do you?” Harry asked, chuckling lowly. Dangerously. “Not the fact that you told the whole school that I was a Potter?”

The group around him took an audible breath. 

“Pardon?”

“Avery, you found out that I was a Potter. There’s no use flitting about the topic,” Harry raised himself up slightly from his chair. “I was ridiculed for my parentage, accused of lying about the death of my mother by the very people I thought to be my friends. All my integrity destroyed overnight. And then you take my position away from me in front of Lament in the most humiliating way you could. 

“I think we can safely assume the reason for his actions was not the fact that I was no longer Seeker, it was because you all abandoned me. The unwilling bastard son of a Potter. Well, excuse me. I would hate to be an imposition,”

Harry stood up, ready to take in the incoherent figures Arithmancy liked to use over at the Ravenclaw table, but then Riddle cleared his throat.

“You are right. It was us who spread the rumour,” Harry swallowed at Riddle’s frankness. 

“Then you admit it,”

“Of course,” Riddle zoned in on his eyes, but Harry looked away. 

“Why?”

“… Harry, you must understand our position on the matter. We had accepted you as one of our own. We ate with you, took classes with you, spent our free time with you, some of us even slept in the same room as you. And yet, in all that time you never even told us of your father-”

“How is that any of your business?”

“- and told us that your parents had been killed in an attack, not just your mother. We naturally thought that you had lied about everything, and on that front, we were obviously wrong. But we felt offended that you would lie about being an orphan, that your parents were dead if they weren’t, and well, in the heat of the moment, we told the truth of who you were,”

“Did it never occur to you that I didn’t want the world to know that I was Potter?”

“Naturally, that’s why we said it. We wanted to lash out. Problems with illegitimacy are a reality for many purebloods; it is something of a soft spot, you could say,”

“I never wanted to claim anything of the Potter’s. I don’t want them to know that I even exist! I don’t want a single thing from them, and I certainly don’t want to associated with them. That’s why I took my mother’s name. That’s why I withheld my lineage. And if you had just bothered to talk to me before spreading all of this, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“And we understand that. Now,”

Harry bit his tongue and shook his head.

“Yeah well, its too late now anyway, so-” 

“What if it wasn’t too late?” Harry froze with his right leg just over the bench. He finished lowering it to the other side but didn’t move any further.

Riddle simply looked him in the eye. He allowed his lips to part a moment before he spoke.

“What if the damage could be undone?” he steepled his hands and rested his chin upon them. 

Harry squinted and straightened his posture.

“I’m going to need you to explain what you mean,”

“I think its only fair that if you create a mess, you can clean it up afterwards. How would you like for me to clean up this mess for you Harry?” 

Harry stared at Riddle. His inner voice had apparently been stunned into silence, as he was hearing nothing within his head. 

Riddle smirked.

“You seem confused?”

“Yeah, Riddle, I’m confused. I’m confused as to why you think that you can convince people to forget something that you just told them. Don’t try to sell me a fantasy,”

“It’s no fantasy,” Riddle released his hands from under his chin. 

“What was the source of that rumour again?” Riddle said, turning slightly to Avery. “It was a first-year girl wasn’t it? Avery, would you say that first year girls are a reliable source of information?” 

“If I believed everything my sister said, I might as well subscribe to the Daily Prophet,”

“Exactly what I thought. First year girls can have quite the imagination, wouldn’t you say? I’m sure if people knew the source of Harry’s rumour, well, it would lose all credibility, wouldn’t it?”

“I would think so,”

“Humm, especially what with Harry being a new student. There’s a lot of mystery around him. Surely this whole ‘Potter’ nonsense is just a grab in the dark. It has every likelihood of being a **baseless rumour** ,” 

Harry chuffed and lowered his head. 

“I see,”

“I’m glad,”

Harry and Riddle silently regarded one another for a moment, and then Harry swung his other leg over the bench. 

“Where are you going?” Riddle asked, forcing a neutral tone.

Harry dusted off his jacket, though it appeared to be dust-free. 

“Oh, I’m sure Arc and Altair are fed up talking about Arithmancy at this stage. Perhaps they would enjoy themselves more if I brought them over here,”

“But of course,” Riddle said, a grin splitting open his mouth to reveal his gleaming teeth. 

“We’d be happy to have them,”

“Wonderful,” 

Before leaving the table entirely, Harry reached out and tucked the small purple peace offering into his jacket pocket.

Malfoy was acting strangely. 

Harry had noticed this fact during the first breakfast he had back with the gang. Throughout the affair, Malfoy hardly said a word. His face was paler than usual and damp with sweat. He hardly ate, and what he did consume was bland. His hair wasn’t sleek as it usually was. It was tangled and looked like it was in need of a good combing. 

When they were walking back to the common room, Harry couldn’t help but stare at the state of his bow. It was entirely uneven and was doing an abysmal job at keeping his hair from slipping down to his face. With each step, more and more hair dislodged itself until Harry was certain it would simply slip from his head. 

He didn’t talk to anyone before going to bed, which wasn’t entirely strange, but the manner in which he conducted himself was jittery and erratic, not cool and collected like he usually was. 

Harry would be lying if he said that he wasn’t worried about him, but he didn’t quite know what to say. 

He sat opposite him on the couches in front of the fire and cast furtive glances at him in between studying Charms with the entirety of the gang. He watched the way Malfoy answered questions and the way he didn’t ask any at all. There was an overall twitchiness and a sense of unease in the way he moved. 

He had tried to ask Mulciber about it, as he presumed that he was his best bet at finding out, but he denied that anything was awry at all. Apparently to him, Malfoy was his usual self. 

That made Harry doubly suspicious. 

That night, Harry lay awake in bed, far too preoccupied with thinking about Malfoy. 

In some ways, he couldn’t understand his unease. Why did Malfoy’s behaviour mean anything to him? Since when did he start caring about personal appearance? Maybe Malfoy had had a bad sleep the night before and was too tired to bother finessing himself. After all, it had been the weekend and what were they for if not relaxing? 

But in all the time that Harry had known the guy, not once had he displayed anything but meticulous precision in his grooming. It wasn’t at all like him to leave his hair by the by. 

His uncalculated mannerisms were too abnormal, and maybe that meant something. Malfoy was having some sort of mental breakdown and it itched Harry not to know what about. 

Was that nosy? Yes, incredibly so. But could Harry afford to be ashamed of that? God no, he had a duty to himself and all those people he left behind in the future to be nosy. Nosiness was what was going to save those people, not Harry’s modesty. 

Harry flipped back his covers and decided to exit his boudoir. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only person up at 4 am. 

Sitting on one of the seats under the pill-shaped windows, was Malfoy. His hair caught the green light of the lake beyond him and it fell loose all around the soft curves of his face and jawline. He had his chin rested on his knees which were clad in cream silk, the fabric of his pyjamas. He looked eerily like a child.

His large, dark blue eyes trained onto Harry through the muted light of the room. They widened even further on his face.

He scrambled out of his position and Harry hurried over to him before he could run away to his bed. 

“Hey, it’s okay! Please stay, I can’t sleep either,” Harry tried to soothe him with calming hand gestures (he assumed, they had never really worked for Harry before).

Malfoy paused and settled himself into a more respectable position on his seat. 

Harry lowered down onto the central seat to the right of Malfoy and tried to catch whatever Malfoy was looking at through the window. There was a warping of something through the darkness, but Harry couldn’t make out what it was. 

He turned back to Malfoy. 

“So… what keeps you up?” Malfoy didn’t remove his eyes from the window. Harry felt as if he were going to be ignored, but then Malfoy cleared his throat.

“I’m not feeling well,” 

“Oh?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows and leaned on the armrest of his seat so that he was closer to Malfoy. 

Malfoy gave him a nervous look and resettled himself in his chair. 

“Shall we go to the infirmary?” 

Malfoy scoffed.

“Of course not. I’m alright. I just need a bit of cool air,” he looked back out the windows. 

“If you’re sure,” Harry sat back into his seat (which was really quite comfy). 

“… I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I couldn’t help but notice you looked unwell earlier today as well. Are you certain nothing is wrong?” 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes into slits.

“What is this? An interrogation?”

“Certainly not-!” 

“What, are you trying to find a conspiracy here? Some sort of plot?”

“No, not at all. I simply want to know if you’re alright,” Malfoy looked at him for a moment and then chuffed.

“Yeah right,”

“I’m serious,”

“And why should you care?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why should you care about my welfare? I’ve hardly been a friend to you this past month, I hardly speak to you, why should you care?”

Harry stared at him, angry at his inability to find any answer even within himself. 

“I don’t know. Perhaps I don’t have some sort of agenda. Perhaps I’m just making sure you don’t die. I apologise for caring, won’t happen again,” 

Malfoy blinked and then withdrew further onto his chair, dismissing Harry by ignoring his presence. 

Harry scoffed and stood up. He dragged out the awkwardness for as long as he could by making himself a cup of tea. He watched Malfoy all the while, but the boy hardly stirred and however sick he was, Harry convinced himself it wasn’t serious and therefore not worth his energy worrying about. 

“Goodnight,” he said, after taking a large slurp of tea that fogged up his glasses. 

He didn’t get a response, but he got a wonderful night’s sleep after all. 

The following morning, Malfoy was presumably back to normal. His bed was clean and tidy and empty, and he was nowhere to be found. Harry was almost lead to believe that what had happened earlier that morning was a dream. Almost.

When he went up to the Great Hall with his other roommates for breakfast, he was slightly more convinced that it had actually happened. 

Malfoy had deep purple bags under his eyes and his hair was almost its usual self, except it was far too greasy. 

Harry was actually stunned to see him that way. He thought before had been bad, but to seem him make an effort to cover up his… whatever he was suffering from, and still fail… well it was unsettling to say the least. 

Harry sat down and tried to join the conversation around the table, but it was very hard to stay engaged. He felt a nudge to his left and looked over to see Arc peering at him quizzically. 

“Are you okay? You look a bit off,”

“Ah gee, thanks,” 

“It’s not being back here is it? Should we go?” Harry paused chewing for a moment and looked at Arc. Arc started to shift uncomfortably. 

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just… nice to know that you’d do that for me,”

“Of course. We’re friends aren’t we?” 

Harry smiled and Arc smiled back. 

Their moment of comradery was interrupted however by a stifled retch at Harry’s eleven o’clock.

Malfoy ungraciously hauled himself away from the table and began running out of the hall. Harry bolted upright. 

“I’ll go after him,” he said, pulling his legs away.

“Wai-!”

“I was with him last night, he was unwell. I know what to do, please let me handle it,” Harry issued to Riddle before breaking into a run after Malfoy. 

Malfoy had gone in the direction of the Grand Staircase but by the time Harry had gotten there, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Harry raked a hand through his hair. 

He tried to remember where the nearest bathroom was. 

“Harry!” Harry whipped around and saw that Avery had followed him. Damn Riddle!

Avery whipped his head around.

“Do you know which way he went?”

“No,” Harry looked to his right and then his left. “He probably went to the Middle Courtyard. The bathrooms are closest,” 

Avery nodded.

“I’ll take that way, you go the other way,” Avery was off before Harry could remind him that there were no bathrooms the other way. He sighed as a stair groaned to a halt in front of him.

As if the heavens themselves had decided to hand Harry a lifeline, on the fourth step of those stairs, Harry saw a twisted blue ribbon. 

He looked up. The stairs lead to the first floor. 

He climbed them speedily, betting on the likelihood that Malfoy would have felt too sick to go any further, and sprinted down the corridor to where he knew a Boy’s Lavatory was located.

Harry burst into the room and saw Malfoy with his hair in disarray leaning over the sink and staring at his pale counterpart in the mirror. He jumped at the sight of Harry and made a grab for his wand. 

He blasted a spell at random in Harry’s direction, back glued to the lip of the sink. 

Harry ducked, the wind leaving his body from the shock of sudden movement. 

“Hey, hey, hey! It’s okay! I’m not going to hurt you, you’re alright… I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Harry didn’t make the same mistake of using soothing hand movements to calm him down. He instead held them palms open and slinked slowly over to Malfoy. 

He recognised this scene in his mind, a desperate, erratic blond looking like death warmed up in a bathroom, clutching to the sink. He’d be damned if it would have the same ending again. 

Malfoy shuddered out his breaths, still spiky with nerves. His eyes scathed Harry as he approached, warning him to stay away. Harry slowed slightly.

“It’s alright. You just gave us a scare is all, running out like that. I just want to make sure that you’re okay, alright?” he said as softly as he could possibly muster. 

Malfoy bit his lip and his eyes began to spill over. After a moment, he slumped to the floor like a puppet whose strings had just been clipped. Harry hurried over to try and ease his fall to the ground. 

“Gosh, Malfoy. I knew you were sick last night. We should have gone to the infirmary,”

Malfoy sought out Harry’s eyes, his own brimming with a terror Harry knew all too well, but hadn’t seen in some time. Not since the war.

“I- I saw him,”

“Saw who?” Harry asked.

“Riddle,” 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, you _saw_ him? What does that mean?”

“I saw him,” he swallowed, staring Harry squarely in the eyes. 

“I saw what he will become,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! Hope we're all doing well. Tis good to be back. 
> 
> I'm going to be starting university towards the end of September, so I probably won't be posting weekly from then on. I'm hoping to upload biweekly instead. But anywhoooooo, its all good. 
> 
> Next time, Malfoy explains himself to Harry and Harry finds out something about Riddle. 
> 
> See you all later me luviesssss


	21. Visions of Voldemort and Appleby Cannons

Harry readjusted the covers pooled around his waist. Then he adjusted them again. And again.

He cast a quick tempus charm. Malfoy was late. 

After Malfoy’s not so little confession, Harry had realised that it was important to discuss what had happened. But he had also realised that such a delicate topic needed to have a special time and place. Avery was on the prowl after all, and they had Charms in a few minutes. So, he told Malfoy to sneak into his bed at 1:45, hoping that the time was obscure enough that everyone would be too asleep to notice their early morning rendezvous. 

But Malfoy was late, and Harry was beginning to think that waiting for Malfoy to explain his great revelation had been a glorious mistake. He threw the covers off his lap in a fit of disappointment.

However, just then, his curtains squeezed open with the intrusion of a ghostly pale hand clutching at a wand. Harry jumped before Malfoy finally revealed himself past his hand. His hair was tied with its ribbon and he looked the most kept that he had in a while. 

Harry watched as Malfoy slowly slunk his way onto the end of Harry’s bed and adjusted the curtains as if they hadn’t been disturbed at all. Malfoy flicked his eyes up at him as he made himself comfortable, elegantly crossing his legs under the plush wool of his night robe. 

Harry nodded at their surrounds and Malfoy’s eyes dropped down to Harry’s wand, which was already preoccupied with lighting up the space. Malfoy slowly plucked a streamline stick of hawthorn from his robe pocket and whished it about, whispering a silencing charm. 

“Right, now that that’s been sorted-”

“Before you say anything,” Malfoy said, holding up a finger. “I just want to iterate that anything we’re about to discuss cannot leave this bed,”

“Of course, Malfoy, the sentiment is entirely mutual. I didn’t think that was even in question,”

“Yes, well,” Malfoy cleared his throat and straightened his robes. “I just wanted to make sure that we are clear. If any of this gets out-”

“Believe you me, I know,” Harry said earnestly, hoping that they could discuss the elephant in the bed now. 

Malfoy gave one succinct nod. 

“Now, shall we?” 

Malfoy nodded again.

Harry exhaled and leaned over his crossed legs. 

“You said earlier you saw what Riddle will become. What did that mean?” 

Malfoy stared at Harry for a moment before swallowing.

“You know what I am, don’t you?” 

Harry furrowed his brows.

“Remember that first Monday of term? You and Avery and I went back to the common room before going to Charms?”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“Oh yes. Yes. I remember that,” Harry leaned closer towards Malfoy. “You have an inner eye?” 

Malfoy nodded hesitantly. 

“And no one other than Avery knows?” 

Malfoy shook his head hesitantly.

“Really? Who?”

Malfoy was, unsurprisingly, hesitant to answer. But that told Harry all that he needed to know, really.

“Riddle?” 

“Shhh!”

“We’re silenced, no one can hear us!”

Malfoy bit his lip and looked at Harry’s curtains. 

“Tom… Tom hears everything,”

“You’re going to have to be a bit clearer if I’m to understand you,”

Malfoy chuffed.

“I thought you were supposed to be a Ravenclaw?”

“Why does everyone keep bringing that up?”

Malfoy smiled, although it looked as though it displeased him to do so, and he peered at Harry from the corner of his eye. Then, he straightened his head and settled the tension in his shoulders. 

“Avery was the first person to know,”

“How?”

Malfoy pursed his lips.

“I was… a bit too perceptive in a Divination exam,”

“Define, ‘too perceptive’?” 

“I predicted something that actually came to pass. Or rather, almost came to pass,”

Harry raised his eyebrows

“I predicted that a student would tamper with the grades they were given after the exam. I even knew the when and where and the how because it was so close into the future. Of course, after I announced that, no one actually tampered with their grades, but it didn’t mean that somebody wasn’t _going_ to,”

Harry took a sharp intake of air. 

“Avery. Avery was going to, wasn’t he?”

“He was very angry because he had gotten incredibly low marks, but so had I, as I hadn’t ended up predicting much of anything. He cornered me one evening and asked me how I knew and I… didn’t really know what to do. And then he guessed that I was a seer and I didn’t deny it strongly enough for him to believe me,”

“And he told Riddle?”

Malfoy chewed his bottom lip.

“I wasn’t even supposed to have been able to predict as I did. I take these potions you see, so that my eye is closed, but I hadn’t been doing too well in the classes and well, I thought it couldn’t hurt to get an Outstanding for once. Mother and father would have been so pleased,”

Harry lowered his eyes. Malfoy was wringing his hands like they were a rope he was desperately trying to latch onto. 

“I would have done the same thing if I were you, you don’t need to be ashamed,”

“If I hadn’t done that then, I wouldn’t be in this mess now!”

Harry allotted time for Malfoy to calm down again before speaking.

“Avery told Riddle you were a seer?”

“Yes. He told Tom everything,” 

“I see,” Harry urged him to continue.

“He… Tom was the first person to not to treat me as someone who was different. He neither treated me like I was incredible or like I was a monster. He was very… normal about the whole thing. He excepted me as I was and didn’t treat me any differently to anyone else,”

“Were you… friends?” 

“Then? God no, but I found myself gravitating to him from then on. And then he started gaining a lot of influence in the house and I sort of fell into his company. You know, he swore to me that no one else would ever know. That it would only be him and Avery and me. Until Avery let it slip to you. But I never trusted Avery that much anyway,” 

Malfoy sighed. 

“I always trusted Tom though,”

Harry scrunched his eyebrows closer together.

“And has that changed?”

Malfoy ran his fingers along the drills of silken seats around his knees, pulling and twisting at them every so often. 

“After what I saw, I’m not so sure I can see him the same way ever again. Having to go back to everyone and make my excuses and sit beside him today-” Malfoy’s voice grew weaker until it faded away entirely. 

Harry scooted closer to him.

“Malfoy, how about you tell me exactly what you saw?”

Malfoy looked at Harry, weighing up his options behind those scared sapphire eyes. Harry exhaled and lowered his eyes just a bit to allow him the space to do so. 

“You know, I’m really not going to tell anyone, but if you still don’t want to tell me, you can keep that information to yourself. However, I’m willing to bet that you will tell me,”

“Oh really, how much?” Malfoy said, irritation seeping into his voice. 

An expression of whimsy crossed Harry’s face. 

“Malfoy, you need to tell someone. Otherwise you wouldn’t have cracked when I found you. It’s obviously effecting you. Just tell me and you’ll feel a lot better,”

“Oh yeah? I’ll bet that you’ll feel a lot better too. What will you do with this information, _Potter_?”

Harry raised his eyebrows; it was scary how the way you said a name could pass down through the generations. 

“I won’t do anything with the information Malfoy. What could I do?”

“Sell me out. Turn Tom against me,”

“You want to be on his side after what you saw?”

“Yes. I’d pity those against what he will become,”

Harry shivered, feeling that one personally. He sat away from Malfoy. 

“Fine then, keep it to yourself. I don’t need to know and apparently you don’t need to tell me,”

Harry pulled the covers of the bed over his lap and raised his hands to his glasses. 

“What are you doing?” Harry paused.

“Well, I’m going to bed. It seems as if we’re done here. Leave the bed silenced, will you?” Harry removed his glasses and placed them beside his pillow.

“Wait! I’ll… I’ll tell you what I saw,”

Harry reached back over for his glasses. He sighed.

“Malfoy, I really won’t tell anyone. I swear. Why would I let Riddle know that I know his future? He could have me killed,”

“I don’t know about killed-”

“Oh, I do. Remember how I was crucioed?”

“That wasn’t him, that was Neil,”

“Neil who just happened to be invited to sit with you before the incident. And me who had almost destroyed his little friend group? Perhaps you can read between those two lines,”

Malfoy coughed a little and then sniffed the air. 

“Well… perhaps I can. After what I saw,” 

Malfoy sagged.

“I saw… a man surrounded by a hooded following in a woods. And I saw a group of people tied to trees. They looked terrified. Some of them were young. Some of them were middle aged. And the man… he was woefully tall and… his skin was bone white, scaly; similar to that of a snake. He was bald and had no nose and his eyes were slitted and red, like a jewel. I only recognised him because of his wand. Thirteen and a half inches of yew. They called him Voldemort,”

Harry’s heart thrummed painfully in his chest, knocking its beats all throughout his body. 

Malfoy’s nostrils flared as he desperately tried to keep it together. 

“He tortured them and then he killed them. He killed all of them. With the Killing Curse,”

Harry hung his head. 

“He started laughing. Practically danced over their bodies,” 

Nothing had changed. Not one thing had changed since Harry had entered the picture. Voldemort would still go on and spread the terror he was going to spread in the future. He was still going to be a monster; a sick, sick man. Could it even be avoided? Was Harry naïve to think that he could have any part to play in stopping the man? 

Maybe the future was set in stone, like when you used a time turner. If you went back, it was because you were always supposed to go back and if the world was messed up when you left, regardless of what you did, it would be messed up when you returned. 

Maybe there really had been a Harry Evans attending Hogwarts in the 1940s. Maybe… well that couldn’t be true. Harry had never seen himself in any of Slughorn’s memories of Riddle. He had never seen a longhaired version of himself chatting it up with the gang. Dumbledore and Slughorn didn’t act as if they had met him generations ago when they first met him in his true timeline. So, Harry had to have a shot at doing something here, right?

He looked into Malfoy’s eyes. 

“Have you stopped taking your potions?”

“Riddle asked me to. He um… he wanted me to perceive your future,”

“Really? How intriguing,” Harry’s eyes gleamed. 

Riddle was having him assessed and certified, which meant that he couldn’t possibly have pure intentions behind asking Harry to re-join his group. The old ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ stunt (although, Harry wasn’t sure _that_ would even qualify as Riddle didn’t really have any friends).

“Why didn’t you? Perceive my future, that is,”

“Well, it’s not exactly a choice. I can’t turn on and off what I see. They just sort of… come to me sometimes, they flow to me. I can’t see particular futures for the most part, just general ones. Otherwise I would have chosen to see something else in that blasted Divination exam,”

“So, you just… _see_ things?”

“Things that are demanded to be seen, yes,”

“And my future is not demanded to be seen?”

“Strangely enough, I can’t get any vibes from you at all. I catch no sort of frequency whatsoever,” 

Malfoy squinted his eyes at Harry, suddenly suspicious. 

“Well, I’m sure that can happen sometimes. Some people are harder to read than others,”

“… Riddle was like that,”

“Then how did you read him this morning?”

“I don’t know. His future demanded itself it be read, I suppose,” 

“Strange…”

“Believe me, there is often no point in trying to understand the universe. The stars have a mind of their own,” 

Harry blinked but tried to act as unaffected as possible. Oh god, this had something to do with him, didn’t it?

“What should we do now?”

“We?” Harry said with a wry smile. 

“Yes, we! You are complicit now! You know too much!” 

Harry’s grin passed away as he looked to his curtains. What would they do?

“Alright. The only thing I think we can do is try our best to change him,”

“Well that sounds easy,” 

Harry gave Malfoy a look, but he remained stoic. Malfoy crossed his arms.

“What? How on earth can you expect to change Riddle. You know nothing about him,”

“I know _enough_ about him, and people like him, Malfoy, to know that all that man wants is power and if he remains unchecked, he will become corrupted by that power,” 

Malfoy’s upper lip curled in snooty disgust.

“And so, what, you’re going to ask him politely to stop?”

“Of course not. I’m a Slytherin, aren’t I?”

Malfoy blanched and uncrossed his arms.

“You’re not going to kill him, are you?” 

Harry’s face screwed itself up.

“No, of course not! Do you really have that bad an opinion of your own house?” Malfoy huffed and Harry shook his head.

“No, I’m not going to murder him,” _wouldn’t work, he’s got horcruxes after all_ “But perhaps we could do something even better than murder,” 

Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

“What would you say to… weakening Riddle’s power?” 

“I would say… you may have eaten some of the mushrooms from the potions room,”

Harry chortled.

“No, I’m serious. Power is a fickle mistress,”

“Not when she’s with Riddle,”

“But what if Riddle’s position as the Head of Slytherin was… taken by somebody else?”

Malfoy straightened his back and shuffled closer to Harry.

“You mean, you?” 

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Not me necessarily. No, not me at all. But I could open that spot up for somebody else,” 

Malfoy leaned forward.

“Me?”

Harry looked away from Malfoy and then met his eyes.

“If you want it. You know what to avoid, I suppose. You’ve seen how power can turn on you if you’re not observant,”

Malfoy’s eyes went starry and far away as they flicked themselves off Harry’s face. Harry leaned back, biting his bottom lip. Maybe he was being a bit rash, promising Malfoy such a position when he didn’t know much about the man’s own ambitions. But Harry had seen how Malfoy handled power on the train. People wouldn’t follow someone they didn’t want to follow; someone they didn’t admire, and Malfoy wasn’t exactly a people person. He’d probably lose the power as soon as Harry gave it to him. Harry shouldn’t need to worry. 

Hopefully.

“Okay,” Harry snapped himself back into the present.

“Sorry?”

“Okay, I like your idea,” 

Harry nodded after a moment.

“But how on earth do you plan on executing it? He’s got complete control over everyone,”

“Don’t you worry about that. Leave all that to me,” Harry waved a hand in a universal gesture of ‘don’t sweat it’.

“What if your plan is stupid?”

“I was almost a Ravenclaw, remember?” 

Malfoy smiled again, but he seemed a lot more comfortable wearing this one.

“For someone who doesn’t like others bringing it up, you seem to awfully like bringing it up yourself,”

Harry grinned. Then he sobered. 

“You said that you take potions to close your inner eye?”

“Yes,”

“Maybe you should start taking them again. Can’t have you not sleeping or letting something else slip by accident,”

Malfoy’s nose twitched.

“Well, I can’t start taking them again if I haven’t seen anything of your future. Riddle will get suspicious and he’ll want me to report something to him,”

“And that’s why you’ll tell him what you ‘saw’ of my future,” Harry said, parenthesising the saw in his sentence with his fingers. 

“What should I say?” Malfoy crossed his arms again. 

“He can’t think I’m a threat. But he can’t throw me away because I’m too indispensable either,” Harry scuffed his fingertips across the nape of his neck, under the tendrils of black falling there.

“Perhaps you should see me in a position in the ministry. Maybe I’m spying for him or something. But don’t say that you saw him in it. He can’t be the minster or something. He can’t know that you know anything substantial of his future,”

“Why not?” 

Harry smiled wryly.

“The less people know about Riddle, the better. Makes it easier for him to have an upper hand; ‘cause he’s such a mystery, you know. He’ll feel less threatened the less you know about him. Probably,”

Malfoy nodded and afterwards did a double take of Harry.

“You are scarily perceptive of him. Why do you want to take him down so much if you don’t want his throne?”

“Simple,” Harry said, smoothing his covers over his torso. “I don’t like the guy,”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

“If this is how you treat people you don’t _like_ , I’d better be careful,”

“Well, this is how I treat guys I hate, so don’t worry too much,”

“I won’t mention that in my report,”

“You could; he already knows that I hate him. I told him as much,” 

Malfoy blinked a couple hundred times at Harry.

“Excuse me?”

“He asked me why I had a problem with him, and I told him I hated him,”

Malfoy shivered.

“And you still have your head?”

“He seemed to like that I hated him,”

Malfoy scoffed.

“You hardly even know him!”

“Perhaps that’s the problem,” Harry surmised, eyebrows disappearing under his fringe. 

Malfoy just sighed and pushed back the curtains on Harry’s bed so that he could exit. 

“Goodnight Malfoy,” 

Malfoy froze, only his back was visible to Harry. He turned his head slightly towards his shoulder.

“Goodnight… Evans,”

The Herbology greenhouses were frosty that particular Tuesday morning. Harry had his trusty scarf on again and it was serving him well. The walk down to the greenhouses had been restricted to the indoor route as much as possible, but one had to exit the castle at some point to get to greenhouse 4 and Harry had not been properly acclimatised to the cold. 

Professor O’Leary was, as per usual, in high, high spirits that morning, and had promptly announced that the class was to divide into groups of two. However, much to Arc’s disappointment, O’Leary was the one in charge of organising who paired up with whom, and he had decided to do it by seating. 

Since Arc had swapped with Lestrange, that put him out of contention to be Harry’s partner and, to his horror, made him O’Leary’s partner, as the class ended up not having the numbers to pair people up evenly with one another. 

It had taken all of Harry’s restraint not to laugh at the changing faces of Arc. First elation, then suspicion, then absolute dread. He forced himself not to meet the boy’s eyes. That would have destroyed him entirely. 

In fact, Harry was taking so long to get the humour out of his system that he hadn’t registered he had been paired up with Lestrange. Or that they hadn’t talked to one another in over three minutes.

Harry desperately scrambled to find something to say, but thankfully, Lestrange was willing to beat him to it. 

“I heard that you are the Seeker again for the Slytherin team,” he said, rolling up a leaf of something Harry couldn’t pronounce and sticking it in place with a charm. 

Harry started. Oh, he hadn’t expected that sort of conversation.

“News travels fast. I was only told myself this morning,” Harry admitted, slowly rolling up a leaf of his own (though it was hardly as good as Lestrange’s).

Avery had taken him aside after breakfast and had asked him to retake the position, saying that he hoped to make up with Harry. Harry had just smiled and nodded, accepting the position graciously. Quidditch would be the one thing to get him through this whole bloody experience.

Lestrange smiled briefly. 

“We are a school quite savvy in current affairs,”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” 

Harry caught Lestrange silently berating himself. He smiled and plucked another leaf, narrowly missing being stabbed by the stem of the plant, which got rather agitated when touched the wrong way. 

“But… um… congratulations,”

Harry blinked up at Lestrange, feeling his grip on his roll loosen as he did so. Lestrange became his mirror image. 

“I- I mean for becoming the Seeker again! Congratulations,”

“Oh!” Harry said, laughing and turning back to his work. “Thank you,”

“Yes well, you’re rather good on a broom, aren’t you?” 

“I suppose so. One of the only things I am good at, really,” 

Harry placed the leaf among his already rolled specimens as Lestrange reached for a fresh one, flawlessly petting the plant into submission before taking another leaf. 

“Well, if you ask me, it’s a ruddy good thing to be good at. I saw you during the try-outs, you were sensational! I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone play like you before,”

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” Harry focused for a moment on the plant, catching it by surprise before he yanked off a leaf. 

“I remember seeing you at the try-outs actually. It was nice of you to come,” 

“I like to go most years, see what the upcoming talent is like. And what with it being my last year, I just had to see it. It’s a shame it’s your last year as well, I’ll never know what legacy the Seeker position will have after I’m gone now,”

Harry chuckled. 

“So, you like Quidditch?” 

“Like it? I love it,”

“Oh really? Who do you support?”

“Appleby Arrows,”

“Interesting,”

“Yes, they’re having a bit of a slump recently, but I’m sure they’re going to snap out of it soon,” Harry raised his eyebrows and applied a sticking charm to his leaf.

“And you? Who do you support?” 

Harry stuck out his bottom lip.

“Um… Chudley Cannons, I suppose,” It’s what Ron had liked, and it was often easier to go along with what he liked, rather than create a rift in the friendship by supporting Puddlemere United or the Monrose Magpies or something.

“Wow, and I thought my team was controversial,” 

“What can I say, I love an underdog,” 

“You’ll be happy supporting them then,” 

They laughed with one another.

“At least you don’t follow the Wimborne Wasps. We might have had a problem then,”

“Are they your rivals?”

“Bitter enemies. Their beater hit one of our Seekers with a wasp’s nest,”

“Jesus!”

“The player had to retire,”

“Merlin! When was this?!”

“Mid-seventeen century. And they still haven’t apologised. Just built their entire bloody team around it,” Lestrange caught himself and flicked an apologetic glance at Harry. 

Harry chuffed. 

“Hope I can live up to your expectations on the Slytherin team then,” he said, reaching out and screwing up his eyes as he concentrated on pulling a leaf off the stalk. 

The plant reacted negatively to his touch and shot out its spikes, catching him in the index finger.

“Ow!” he cried out, pulling his hand close to his chest. Lestrange jumped and grabbed his hand.

“Are you alright?”

Harry blinked rapidly and stuttered as he looked away from Lestrange and to his hand instead.

“Um, yes, I’m fine. That’ll teach me not to wear the gloves,”

He let out an airy laugh.

“Let me just-” Lestrange pincered the spike between his fingers and gently removed it from Harry’s skin. A tiny welling of blood appeared but Lestrange muttered it away with a healing spell. Then he flicked his eyes up to Harry.

“Thank you,” Harry said, still a little weirded out by the awkwardness of the moment. 

Lestrange blinked at Harry and reddened, quickly letting go of his hand. 

“Oh, yes, well, you’re welcome. No problem at all. Let’s get back to work, shall we?” 

Harry slowly turned back around in his seat to face the table and watched hesitantly as Lestrange started work at a much faster pace than usual. He bit his lower lip and unconsciously looked over at Nott. 

He was prompted by his brain to laugh.

“Arc looks as if he’s about to combust,” he said, leaning closer to Lestrange and lowering his voice to a whisper. Lestrange’s face cracked into a wide grin. 

“Oh dear. I pity him so,”

Harry twirled his quill around in his fingers as he sat at the back of the common room by one of the frightfully long windows. His chair was a standalone bergère, so he used the opportunity of its privacy to write in his ‘diary’. 

It had felt so good to be able to cross out the words ‘Plan C’, but since then, he hadn’t really been able to do much else. He had updated his notes to reflect his current situation, but what on earth would he do from here on out?

It felt like every time he opened his journal, he was asking himself that question. What could he do now to take down Riddle? Plotting someone else’s demise was bloody hard work, especially when they were Riddle. 

He and Malfoy tried to keep an amicable distance, purely so that no suspicions were raised now that they were… colluding(?) with one another. However, Malfoy had purposefully brushed past him on the way out of Transfigurations and pressed a folded piece of parchment into his hand. 

Despite no one of note being in the near vicinity, Harry had appreciated his caution. One could never be too careful when planning a usurpation, after all. 

The parchment told him that Malfoy had spoken to Riddle that morning at breakfast before anyone else had arrived, informing him of his ‘vision’ of Harry. He had also told Riddle that he was going to start taking his potions again as he was suffering terribly from the withdrawal. He had already been assaulted on many occasions with unwanted visions and since he had little control over his gift, they often came at him all at once so that he was brought to the brink of vomiting. 

Harry was happy to hear that Malfoy was taking his potions again. He was slightly worried that Malfoy could be a threat, with a power such as his. He may not have been able to pick up on anything from Harry just yet, but what is to say that one day his complicated nature wouldn’t unravel? Then Malfoy would have Harry’s true form laid at his feet, and whilst he couldn’t be sure Malfoy would turn from him, it was a possibility. A possibility he could not afford to entertain. 

Malfoy had also stated on the note that he thought Riddle had trusted his vision. Harry wondered what on earth warranted that summation, but it was a waste of energy to worry about it. Malfoy was in the same boat as Harry now, and he wasn’t an idiot (discounting the fact that it had been he who had outed himself as a seer to Harry). He would be thorough; Harry could be sure of that. 

Which was why Harry needed to come up with a plan of action from here on out. It had been alright when he was on his own; he had had no rush to make any decisions and could amend them on the spur of the moment, if needs be. Now, he had a Malfoy hanging over his shoulder, and he could feel the weight of that pressure like a boulder.

Harry tapped the tip of his quill to his page and then tapped it again, causing a gross drop of midnight ink to stain through his page. 

“Writing in your diary again?”

Harry jumped. Settling into the bergère at the other side of a chunky yet small walnut end table, was none other than Tom Riddle himself. He was wearing a charming smile that evening, one of his nicer ones. 

“Yes, I am,” 

Harry looked back at his pages as if to shoo him away and tightened his grip on the journal’s cover, his only walls of defence. 

“I was in the mood to write in my own,” Riddle said, indicating his diary in his left hand with a slight shake. He crossed his long legs and laid the book on their summit. 

“Mind if I join you?”

Harry took in the quirk of his eyebrow, the elegance of his uniform (despite it being the same design worn by everyone else), and his curves and lines. Sometimes, he really just looked like a normal boy. 

“I suppose you are free to act as you wish. Who am I to deny you of your right to free will?”

Riddle’s smile took on a note of humour and he smoothed a hand onto the black leather cover of his diary, opening it with his thumb. 

Harry drew a loop on his page, originally intending for it to be a letter, but gave up halfway. He looked up from it and idly watched the room. 

The rest of the gang were mainly bunched toward the centre of the common room. Mulciber looked as if he were trying to communicate with Altair and Arc. Malfoy and Lestrange were in silent contemplation and Dolohov was being lectured by Avery on a topic that Dolohov likely didn’t have much care for, if his lax position on his seat was anything to go by. 

His eyes then landed on Riddle again. Riddle wrote with a slight crease in between his eyebrows and his mouth held in concentration. If you didn’t catch yourself, he might just fool you into thinking he looked adorable. But Harry, of course, caught himself, so he was far more concerned with the fact that Riddle was writing in his diary.

His diary.

Was that **his diary** or simply his diary? Would he really write in **that diary** in public? But then, why wouldn’t he? Why would anyone suspect him of doing anything other than what he was doing in plain sight? It was probably the perfect place to hide. But still, it was rather bold of him. 

It sounded like something Harry might do… which he sort of was doing… right this moment. 

Harry slapped his own diary shut, overdoing the action a bit, and slid in his quill as an afterthought (which he did dry off before putting it in).

The sound roused Riddle from his thoughts and he looked at Harry. 

“Oh? You’re finished already? I hardly saw you write anything in it,” 

Harry rubbed at his scar on his forehead. Of course Riddle had been watching Harry. Why wouldn’t he? Why should Harry be surprised?

“Not in the mood,” 

“Surely it wasn’t something I said?”

“You’ve hardly said anything to me,”

“Oh, so that was it? I apologise,” Riddle closed his diary, a look of pity evident on his face as he regarded Harry. “Let’s talk,”

Harry was gobsmacked. How had he put two and two together and gotten seventy?

“No, no I-”

“Oh, don’t be shy. It’s no problem. I like talking with you,”

“You do?”

“Of course. You’re very intriguing,”

“I am?”

“Yes,” Riddle said, chuckling. “Do you find that hard to believe?” 

Harry unfroze himself by shaking his head. What was he still doing here?

“That’s-that’s not the point. I’m going-”

“Please don’t,” 

Harry felt something on his arm. He looked down. It was a hand. An elegant hand adorned with the Gaunt family ring. Harry looked at the owner of the hand, who then tightened his hold on Harry. 

“Stay,” 

Harry took a moment but then flopped back down onto his seat, holding his diary close to his chest. 

“Alright,” Riddle smiled. “But only for a minute! I have Transfiguration homework,”

“As do I. Perhaps we should do it together?”

“I like to work alone,”

“Really? Now that is interesting,” 

Harry screwed up his entire face. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Riddle just smiled to himself and looked down at his hands and nails. 

“Has that peace offering of mine helped you in your research?”

“Research? Who said anything about research?” 

“You did,” 

“I did? Oh… yes, I did,” Harry cursed at himself under his breath, but Riddle did him the curtesy of skimming over his reaction. 

“Well?”

“It… um… I haven’t read it yet,” 

“My, my, Harry. I would have thought you would have gobbled it up by now,”

Harry scoffed and crossed his legs. 

“It’s only been two days,”

“Indeed, and you only have until Friday to hand it back. Transfigurations and now Astrology. It seems as if the list of subjects just keeps lengthening,”

“I really don’t need your help in either,”

“Are you sure? Because it looked as if Dumbledore was on your case the last I saw of him,” 

Harry’s teeth reached out to drag on his lower lip. It was true that he and Dumbledore were not on the best of terms. Dumbledore remained suspicious, more so even as the days went by and his apparent search of Harry’s background remained barren. 

Harry had considered telling Dumbledore that he was actually a secret Potter, and to please, pretty please, not tell a soul or life would get very awkward indeed for poor little Harry. But the idea did raise some flags. 

Could he trust Dumbledore not to mention something to the Potters? Harry was willing to bet not, considering the politically volatile situation they were currently in. People without a past aren’t just a regular occurrence after all. Heck, Harry would be as, if not more, wary of himself if he were in Dumbledore’s position. Considering the fact that he hadn’t been carted off for an inquest yet, Harry was really quite lucky to only have Dumbledore’s caution. 

Harry released his lip, shaking his head, remembering where he was.

“We’re talking about homework, not Dumbledore,” 

“Hm… but wouldn’t impeccably done homework just brighten his spirits?” 

Riddle smiled at Harry, eyes glittering as he leaned his coiffed head on the back of his chair. 

Harry didn’t like the calculation in them. 

“I doubt it,”

“Oh?” Riddle said, eyes narrowing as he positioned himself to face Harry just that little bit more. 

“What ghastly thing could you have possibly done to incur his wrath?”

“Well, if I listened to you and your friends, not much of anything,” 

“Haha, so its to be that, eh? A good old-fashioned grudge of association,”

“In part, I suppose,”

“And the other part?”

“None of your business,”

Harry began pulling at the fabric of his bergère, but it was too stiffly packed to move much at all.

“Come now, a problem shared is a problem halved!”

“No,”

“I’d be very good with my half,”

“No!” Harry finished pulling at the fabric and gave Riddle a scathing look that was, unbeknownst to him, softened by the childlike nature of his pout.

Riddle tamed the corners of his mouth and gave a succinct nod.

“Then at least let me help you with your homework,”

Harry stared at him for a moment. 

“If you promise to stop talking about Dumbledore,”

“I don’t particularly like talking about the man in general, so that will suit me nicely,” 

Harry grunted as he pulled himself away from the back of his chair.

“I’ll get my notes,”

“I should get mine too; I’ll walk with you,” 

Harry didn’t have to wait long for Riddle to join him in standing, and they both began to walk in the direction of the boy’s dormitory. Harry avoided Arc’s look, but he knew it had been there and that he’d be interviewed on the situation later.

As Harry reached his door, Riddle stuck out his hand and claimed the knob before he could. Harry gave him a pointed look. 

“Before you go in, I have something that I’d like to say to you,”

Harry’s heart gave a little jump in his chest, but he wasn’t sure for what.

“Don’t get too comfortable around Malfoy,” 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed and he didn’t let on the drop he felt in his stomach.

“Excuse me?”

“Malfoy. He can be a bit… slippery. It’s best to keep your distance from a person like him,”

Harry couldn’t help the sardonic laugh from escaping his lips but tried to reign it back as much as he could. Riddle describing someone else as slippery seemed worrisome indeed. 

“Slippery? How so,”

Riddle did not seem impressed by Harry’s outburst and tightened his hand on the doorknob. 

“Malfoy likes to suit himself and he has a weak spirit. I’m afraid you can’t count on him to stand up and do something when the time calls upon it. It’s best not to mingle too closely with people such as that,”

“And why’s that?”

“Because they can’t help you realise your ambition. And you must have some sort of ambition, or else why would you be here?” Riddle leaned in a little closer to Harry. 

Harry swallowed.

“Why would you need to warn me about Malfoy? We hardly talk to one another,”

“Really? You seem _quite_ close to me,” Riddle said, drifting a little closer to Harry. Damn it, Harry could pick up that blasted cologne again.

“Since when?”

“Since you stayed up with him while he was unwell. Since you helped him when he was sick yesterday morning,” Riddle’s voice was low and quiet and yet his annunciation was so clear that the syllables he used lifted the hairs on the backs of Harry’s arms. 

Harry’s eyes suddenly brightened (he hadn’t realised them growing dull). 

Of course! That’s what Riddle was trying to do! He wasn’t trying to warn Harry about Malfoy out of the goodness of his heart, he was trying to suss out whether Harry knew anything about Malfoy and his mission! What a crafty bastard! Harry had almost… almost… done something. He wasn’t quite sure what, but he was sure he would have done something.

“No, Malfoy is a bit blue-blooded for my tastes, and I’m too purple for his, being a half-blood and all. I only helped him because I thought he could do with some help, and as you’ve told me yourself, it’s important to be on the good side of those with high status,” 

Something moved behind Riddle’s eyes and Harry lowered his in a moment of panic. His eyes searched for something natural to land on and that just so happened to be the doorknob.

“Could I please enter my room now?” 

“Of course,” 

Riddle twisted his hand, light fighting for space on the black stone of his ring as it moved. He pushed back the door until it was open just enough for Harry to get through. 

That is, if Riddle would remove his arm from the open space. 

“Just… file away my advice at the very least,”

Harry was still, and then nodded his head after a beat. After all, it never hurt to be too careful.

“I will. Thank you,” 

Riddle’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, as it often didn’t, but this time he hadn’t really tried. He finally removed his hand.

“I’ll just go and get my books and join you out there,” 

“Alright. I’ll do the same,” Riddle left with an inclination of his head and one last flickering look. 

Harry swallowed and pushed the door a little more open. 

Perhaps he would leave it ajar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does it feel like there's never enough time in the day and yet it can also feel as if the days just drag on? Like, I planned to do so much today and I've only ended up doing three things tops. It makes no sense. America, explain. 
> 
> Anyway, on a more related note to this chapter, I will admit that I spent a disproportionate amount of time looking up Quidditch teams for this chapter and learning little bits of weird lore about them. I doubt any of this knowledge will be useful anywhere else but here, but there you go. 
> 
> Next time, I'm planning on having a bit of Dumbledore time and maybe a little Sam? In each chapter as well from now on, I'm going to have some Harry and Riddle development, so assume something will happen there too hehe. ( Who knows, if I'm feeling extra crazy, I might even drag Mulciber back into this big 'ol mess). 
> 
> Take care everyone. Peace.


	22. What is the cost of a favour?

Studying with Riddle was actually quite enjoyable. He was incredibly intelligent and certainly didn’t need any of Harry’s help. It seemed as if Harry could ask him any question at all and he would have the answer. It was almost supernatural in itself, the extent of Riddle’s magical knowledge. 

It reminded Harry of Hermione in a lot of respects, but Harry had to concede that even Hermione would struggle to match Riddle’s intellect. Despite her canny ideas and photographic memory, Riddle just piped her in deduction and application. His knowledge was so extensive, that Harry was sure he could connect every magical topic under the sun in one off-the-cuff lecture whilst still keeping you engaged. 

And that was also an area in which he exceled. He related whatever piece of knowledge you were after, to you. His skill of perception was really no joke. 

But Harry had to remind himself not to make a habit of studying with him more than was necessary, as he couldn’t be sure Riddle wasn’t counting these as favours that one day Harry would be required to pay back.

With Riddle’s help, the homework (a large essay on wand movements which had been due for the following week) was completed in record time and Harry was able to catch an early night. He was ready for bed before all his other roommates, and therefore was able to slump into a chair by one of the windows and do some research on star magic with Riddle’s peace offering as his guide.

Harry had to admit that Riddle had suggested a very thorough book to him indeed. How comprehensive its descriptions were, a truly compendious tome! At least, from what Harry could understand of it. 

When he happened upon the first runic passage, he had thought it was a once-off. But then he saw another. And another. It turned out just over a quarter of the book was written in ancient runes and Harry could only assume that was the important stuff. 

He was seething because he felt that he should have known Riddle would do something like this. He had thought the peace offering was just that, a gesture of goodwill, but apparently even Riddle’s peace offerings had a catch. There was no way Harry could properly understand the book without his diverse expertise on the language of ancient runes, and Harry could only imagine the content they encrypted if the quality of the English sections were anything to judge by. 

The opening of the dorm room door was a welcome distraction when it came. 

“There you are!” 

Arc strolled over to his bed and dropped like a stone onto his covers. Luxury beds, as Harry had come to learn, don’t release the same satisfactory noise as bed springs in a cheaper one does. The one’s in Gryffindor had much more character.

Harry lowered his book onto his lap and gave Nott a smile.

“Yep. Here I am,”

Arc leaned back on his hands and studied Harry as the other inhabitants of the room milled around him, moving to their beds, and doffing their jackets. 

“You and Riddle were studying together,” 

Harry didn’t respond for a moment. Then he looked back down into his book.

“Transfigurations homework. The bit that’s due next week,”

“I still need to do that. We could have done it together!”

Harry raised his eyes to see Arc pouting. He caught Mulciber’s from across the room. Mulciber was calmly settling down onto his bed and watching, with interest, the proceedings. He at least had the humility to bend down and pluck his shoes from his feet when he noticed Harry looking at him.

“I’m sorry. Riddle asked me would I like to do it with him, and I thought it rude to refuse,” 

His eyes flicked back down to the pages of his book, which were winking seductively at him (love magic and the stars- apparently a correlation existed).

“Besides, now I have it done, you can copy off me,”

Malfoy scoffed but Harry only grinned. 

“I see you’re making use of Riddle’s gift,” 

Harry was unnerved to find a knowing look on Mulciber’s face. A smug mouth that was inches away from boasting about the runic passages that Harry couldn’t possibly hope to understand by Friday without a little help. At least, that was what Harry had projected onto him. 

Harry snapped the book closed. 

“Yes, indeed I am. Bit of a tedious read though, I’m afraid. I’m not quite sure it has what I’m looking for,”

“I see,” 

Mulciber’s face grew taught. Harry had to applaud his restraint. 

Harry jumped up from his spot and timed the opening of his trunk in the way he had learned from experience was best. The book was placed carefully beside his ‘diary’ and he closed the trunk manually with a soft and slow click. 

Malfoy was looking covertly at Harry as he brushed through his hair. When he knew Harry had noticed, he raised an eyebrow. Harry moved his upwards in response and ambled over to sit on the body of his bed. 

“What exactly do you want with an Astrology book?” 

Harry looked over his shoulder to see Mulciber bent over his knees, passing either hand back and forth to one another. Harry looked away again. 

“Just doing a bit of reading,”

“Right. Because, correct me if I’m wrong, you don’t do Astrology, do you?”

Altair appeared out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his neck. He had been pressing his hair with his towel in an attempt to dampen it, but he paused for a moment to tune into the conversation. He looked just as curiously at Harry as Mulciber did. 

Harry stamped his back teeth together as he turned to look at Mulciber again. 

“No, I don’t. What’s your point?”

Mulciber picked up and dropped his shoulders in one swift movement. 

“It’s just a bit of an odd subject to voluntarily read. It’s not very practical,”

“I was just interested in learning about it, is all. I don’t have to have any sinister reason behind wanting to read an Astrology book,”

“It was in the restricted section though,” 

Arc sat up onto his elbows and considered Mulciber from across the room like a cat might. And then he considered Harry. 

“Yes, because all the Astrology books in the normal section are no fun, Mulciber. You have to at least look to the Dark Arts for Astrology to get remotely interesting. Besides, Harry couldn’t access any magical Astrology books growing up; let him read them now while he can,”

Harry swallowed and quirked a corner of his mouth discretely upwards when he caught Arc looking at him again.

A rap on the door ripped everyone’s attention away from any further discussion of Astrology and instead brought it to the subject behind the door. Of course, they all knew what the rap meant. The room was about to experience a decrease in population. The question on everyone’s minds though, was by how much.

Harry had almost forgotten with the whirlwind of the last few days that Mulciber had started bringing Altair to those meetings. What on earth would happen now?

Apparently, nothing. For, upon hearing the knock, Mulciber simply raised himself from his bed and slid his feet back into his loafers. Only a fleeting glance was cast Altair’s way, nothing more. 

Harry was brought to the realisation that the room had been rid of the enemy, leaving only the rebellious forces left. He considered revealing this to all the other people in the room but pulled himself back seconds before he activated his mouth. 

How would Rosier and Nott react to Malfoy being on their team? Could they trust him? And Malfoy, what about him? He would certainly not appreciate Harry disclosing their affiliation. 

And, if Harry were to think about it from his own point of view, wouldn’t it be wiser not to complicate his stew by adding all his ingredients into the same pot? A lot more could go wrong if everything was chucked in together; one rogue ingredient and the entire dish would be ruined with no backups to spare. 

Harry couldn’t afford a recipe for disaster, not when he was serving a foodie such as Riddle. Harry’s very life, and the lives of many others, depended on it. 

So, Harry picked up the centre of his bed coverings and buried himself in the space between them and the mattress. And with a swish, a silencing spell, and the removal of his glasses, he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep slumber. 

Harry knew that he had some Defence homework due, and that he should really be doing that during his first free period of the day. However, Altair and Arc were in Arithmancy, so no one was looking over his shoulder presently, and the library was fairly quiet and mostly free from watchful eyes. So, despite his better judgement, he was reading through the Astrology book again. 

He had gotten through the English parts and all that was left were the bits written in that primordial runic script. 

As he was in a library, he endeavoured to seek out a runic dictionary of sorts and perhaps translate the first few sentences in every paragraph. That way, he could weed out the unsuitables and narrow in on any descriptions about time magic. 

But even he knew this would be a mammoth of a task.

He wasn’t even sure there was such a thing as a runic dictionary. He was certainly having a lot of trouble finding one in amongst the shelves of the Ancient Runes department, and something told him that he wouldn’t have much luck in the restricted area this time either. 

He pursed his lips as he crossed his arms, giving one last thorough scan of the lower sections. He noticed a sudden shadow befall him.

“Oh, hello,”

Harry blinked up at the figure. It was Lestrange. 

“Oh,” Harry unleashed his arms. “Hi,” 

Lestrange took a few tentative steps towards him. Harry turned back to the bookshelf, biting his lower lip. 

Neither of them said anything. That was, until Lestrange realised that Harry was standing in front of the book he needed. 

“Um, pardon me. I just need that book there,”

“Oh, here. Let me,” Harry reached out and dislodged the book for Lestrange. His eyebrows pinched themselves together when he read the title. 

“’Translations in Runic’,” he read aloud. 

Why, that sounded exactly like what he was looking for. 

“That’s the one,” 

Harry snapped out of his head, remembering that he was supposed to pass the book onto Lestrange. He held it out with a sheepish smile. 

“Here,” 

Lestrange accepted it graciously.

“Thank you,”

He gave a gentlemanly nod to Harry and then started to back away. 

Harry divided his attention between the shelving and Lestrange’s retreat, debating whether he should say anything. He decided he would.

“You wouldn’t happen to know if there are any more of those lying around, would you? It’s just that I think that’s exactly what I’m looking for,”

Lestrange paused mid-turn and softened his eyes in pity. 

“No, I’m afraid it’s the only one. Runes students are required to have their own translators, so they don’t stock many here; only for the few students such as myself who have lost them,” 

Harry smiled hopelessly. 

“Ah, I see,” 

“Do you need it urgently?” 

“Not necessarily. I can get it next class. It’s alright,”

“I’m actually going to book it out for the next class. That’s when Ancient Runes is on next,” 

Harry’s shoulders slumped, but he tried not to show his disappointment too much. It was just typical that this would happen. 

“Right. Perhaps some other time then,” 

Harry believed a swift exit was in order. 

“What exactly do you need a translator for?” Lestrange asked as Harry passed by him. 

“You mean you don’t know? For Riddle’s peace offering, of course. Half the bloody thing is in runes. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it,”

“Harry,” 

Harry stopped and turned around. 

“How…um… how about I take a look at it for you?”

Harry’s eyebrows jumped behind his fringe. 

“You sure about that?”

“… Yes, I believe so. But perhaps it should be done discreetly. So as not to alert anyone,” 

Harry nodded after a bewildered moment to show his understanding of Lestrange’s insinuation. 

“I’ll just check out the book, you can head up to the second floor of the tower. I’ll meet you at the top of the stairs,”

“And- and you’ll help me translate the runes?”

“Yes, of course,” Lestrange sounded a little affronted. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just… why?”

Lestrange smoothed a hand over his ponytail at the nape of his neck.

“Well, I… I think you’re a decent fellow. And I think you have been treated rather harshly by Hogwarts so far, so I’d like to give you a break. Besides, I’ll be practising my runes, so if anything, you are doing _me_ a favour,” 

Harry breathed out a grin which had the potential of curling around his ears; it felt so broad and untameable. 

“Thank you Lestrange, that’s really nice,”

A rush of crimson spilt from somewhere on Lestrange’s body and it spread upwards onto the skin of his neck. He coughed to disguise it. 

“Yes, well, like I said, we both benefit a little,” Lestrange tried to calm himself with a swallow and then made a jerky exit. 

Harry smiled as he watched him go, replaying the conversation they had in his mind. Either Lestrange was a really good actor, or he was just a decent person. 

How on earth did a decent person end up with someone like Riddle?

Potions was quickly becoming one of Harry’s favourite subjects in Hogwarts. This was not necessarily due to the content, nor was it due to the professor; it was due to the ball of Gryffindor positivity that was seated beside him. 

When Harry was invited back into the Slytherin fold, the one thing he hadn’t accounted for was feeling a sense of disappointment. Truth be told, he had actually enjoyed sitting with the Gryffindors, whatever the circumstances for being there was and however inconsequential their friendship in the grand scheme of things.

He had thought that he would get to experience life as a normal, non-infamous, teenager when he first travelled back in time. But, after becoming friends with Riddle, he had been awarded a fame of sorts, albeit minor. And, considering the fact that he was scheming his way to dethroning a man, he couldn’t exactly say that he was living the average teenage life in that regard either. 

When he had sat with the Gryffindor’s however, he had gotten a taste of what it must be like. To just be… normal. To have friends, to hang out, to talk about matters that didn’t relate to life or death, or to have to constantly plan your future and worry about all these variables during its execution. 

Harry had been able to eat without minding how he chewed (as somebody would inevitably be watching him when he was the Boy-Who-Lived and ready to report to the Prophet about the rhythm of his mastication). He’d been allowed to choose whatever he wanted for lunch and not read about it the following morning in poetic verse à la Rita Skeeter. 

In short, Harry had felt the freest he had ever felt with the people he met in Gryffindor. 

So, even if he had to meander the halls with Riddle and his gang to get there, Harry couldn’t help but approach the Potions classroom with an amplified glee. He even found himself laughing at something Mulciber had said in passing and then again at Riddle’s response.

In fact, the whole group was merry upon entering the classroom. 

Harry’s eyes lit up at the sight of Sam’s wiry red hair. 

“Harry, do tell me you brought that Transfigurations essay with you. If you hand it in early, Dumbledore may give you some House points. And it will improve your favour with him,”

“It’s in the satchel, Riddle. Primed and ready,”

“Hey! You said I could copy it!” 

“Announce it louder Arc, I don’t think the people in the front could hear you,”

“YOU SAID-”

“You maniac! I’ll help you with it, I promise. I can remember the gist of mine!” 

“Alright, I’m holding you to that,” Arc ruffled Harry’s hair as Harry approached his stool beside Sam. He found difficulty in removing his hand afterwards though.

“God, I thought it was about to lock me in there,” 

“Serves you right; it’s got a mind of its own,”

“You really _must_ let me cut it someday,” Altair remarked as he continued on towards his own seat at the front.

“Alright!” Harry called after him, chuckling. 

Harry could have sworn he felt Riddle’s eyes on him, but when he went to look, he saw that Riddle was occupied with talking to Mulciber instead. 

“You’re all lively today,” Sam said quietly. 

Harry beamed at him.

“Guess so. ‘Twas a good lunch,”

Sam sniffed in agreeance. Harry followed the line of his sight. It was trained on Riddle.

“I still can’t get over the fact you’re friends with him,” 

“Neither can I sometimes. And I don’t know if I’d call us friends,”

“What would you call it then? Best friends?”

“Merlin no!” Sam sniggered. “We’re simply… acquaintances,”

“Riddle doesn’t hang out with acquaintances!” 

Harry’s good mood was beginning to sour a little with all this talk of Riddle. 

“You’d be surprised,” Harry leaned his forearms against one another as he slumped further up the table. “Now can we stop talking about Riddle? I just sat an entire lunch with him,” 

“You could have sat an entire lunch with us instead,” Sam said. He quirked an eyebrow as he leaned on his cheek, taking a leaf of relaxation from Harry’s book. 

“I wish,” Harry grumbled. 

“Come on, why not sit with us? Or are we not ‘cool’ enough for your tastes now?”

“You’re all _really_ cool. I’d love to sit with you all,” 

Harry discovered a breach in his resolve, but he had to stick to his guns, no matter how undesirable they were. 

“But?”

“But,” Harry straightened in his chair and locked his hands behind his back. “I have to sit there. I am a Slytherin after all,”

“So? You sat with us before,”

“And I had so much fun. But… I have to give Slytherin a chance. I’m sorry,” Harry twisted his mouth in response to Sam’s frown. 

“But hey, I’m all yours at the game on Saturday. I promise,” 

Sam fought a smile from showing as he picked at a spot on the table with his nail. 

“Really?”

“Of course,”

The smile won out.

“Good, because I was beginning to go mad, thinking about ways to ditch it,”

“Oh, you have no hope of ditching it,”

Sam hummed in agreement.

“Mary-Ann would kill me,”

“Good afternoon everyone!” Professor Slughorn trilled as he hurried through the classroom door. “Apologies for my lateness, let’s get this class started, shall we?”

Harry and Sam shared one last smile before turning to face the front. 

“Sir, I have that essay done,”

Professor Dumbledore’s quill stilled over the parchment he was scratching upon. He looked over his half-moon spectacles to see Harry Evans holding out a thin wad of papers in front of his desk. There was a determination in his stance but a learned caution in his eyes. 

Dumbledore smiled.

“’That’ essay?”

“The one due for next week,”

Dumbledore straightened in his seat.

“You mean to say that you have it done already?” 

“Yes sir,”

“And, you don’t want more time to look over it? To make sure you’re satisfied with it?” 

“No sir; I’m happy with it,”

Dumbledore pursed his lips and reached out to grab the papers. Judging by the thickness, it must have been about four, five pages. 

“I’ll read over it. Thank you,”

After a slight inclination of the head, Harry twisted his body away from the front of the room, ready to leave for dinner. 

Dumbledore tightened his grip on the essay and then set it down onto his table.

“Harry, I overheard something quite serious this afternoon. About you,”

Harry’s inhalation was delayed, so when it arrived it was much grander than usual. He felt a chill spread up his spine and over to his shoulder blades, so much so that he couldn’t help but shiver. 

He turned around and faced his professor.

“You did?”

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

“I did,”

Harry adjusted the strap on his shoulder.

“What did you hear?”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and stood up, using his steepled hands as supports.

“I heard,” he rounded the desk, “That something of a rather sensitive nature was disclosed about you in this school,”

“Sir?” Harry shuffled his feet.

“Yes, I heard a couple of students gossiping over your… lineage,”

Harry’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore held up a hand. 

“No need to explain,” he lowered his hand and used it to grip the lip of the table once more. 

“I understand now why you were nervous to disclose to me your past. The lack of records makes sense now. I apologise for pressing so mercilessly,”

Harry blinked. His brain was both noisy and deathly quiet at the same time. He remembered the necessity of breathing after he noticed a burning sensation in his chest.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” 

“That’s quite alright. You don’t have to say anything, I already know it all. And don’t you worry about those gossipers. I’ll put an end to all of that,”

Harry shook off his stunned expression and attempted instead a grateful smile.

“Thank you sir. I appreciate your help. I will not lie, I was rather stressed over it,”

“And you won’t have to be anymore. You just focus on doing the best you can on your N.E.W.T.S and in your friendships, especially with that chap Sam Bentley. Such a lovely boy; he will be a great companion to you,”

Harry nodded heartily.

“Yes sir, Sam and I get along very well. We’ll be going to the match together this weekend,”

“Oh wonderful! I take it you’ll be cheering on the Gryffindor team?”

“Oh, for this match yes. But I am a Seeker on the Slytherin team, so not always,”

Dumbledore smiled.

“I look forward to seeing you play,”

“Thank you sir. For everything,” 

Dumbledore nodded.

“Of course, my boy. Enjoy your dinner,”

“I will, sir. Thank you,”

Harry circled his hand around the strap of his satchel and beamed at Dumbledore before turning on his heel and dropping his smile. 

Let it not be misunderstood, Harry was relieved that Dumbledore was on his side, that he had one last problem to worry about, but how on earth had he found out? 

He had agonised over the idea of Dumbledore finding out about the rumour and what that might cost, due to Dumbledore’s unpredictability. Harry was elated to find him react so positively. But how on earth had this worked out so well? And why was it just now that Dumbledore had found out? Was Harry being paranoid, or was this too strange?

Oh, Harry wasn’t paranoid; for, leaning against the wall on the other side of the door (nearly giving Harry a heart attack), was Tom flipping Riddle. 

Harry quickly closed the classroom door behind him, and then zipped back to bluster at Riddle.

“You!”

“Hello Harry! Thought you might like some company walking to the Great Hall,”

Annoyingly, he was able to keep perfect pace with Harry, despite Harry trying his best to rev away from him.

“I bet Dumbledore was impressed with you, eh? Handing in that essay early. I thought it best to hold off handing mine up. Give you all the glory, eh?”

“Stop acting so proud of yourself!” Harry hissed at him. He waited for group of girls passing by them to move out of earshot. 

“What did you do?”

Riddle adopted an innocent expression.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“How on earth did Dumbledore find out about the rumour?”

Riddle broke into a knowing smile.

“Ah, _that_ ,”

“Yes, **that**! What did you do?”

“He really mentioned it to you? That he knew?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Well, not ‘ _of course_ ’. I find it a bit odd he mentioned it at all. Why would he need to? Unless… that had something to do with that other part you mentioned,”

“What other part?”

“Well, the other part that didn’t involve us in his grudge over you,”

Harry looked over his shoulders and craned his neck to check his front. 

“In here,” Harry said, slipping out from the main path of the cloister and into a thinner passageway that grew to a little windowed alcove. 

Riddle trailed after him after having a look around for himself. 

“Are you going to kill me whilst we’re in private?” he joked.

“Don’t tempt me,” he heard Harry grumble, as he turned his head left and right, trying to remember which was the correct path.

“Come on, this way,” Riddle said, sliding a hand over Harry’s largely wool covered wrist. 

He tugged Harry, despite his protests, to exactly the place he wanted to go. Once there, Riddle let Harry go with a sharp flick that felt unnecessary. 

“Now, what would you like to accuse me of this time?” Riddle asked with a cocky smile and a mocking eyebrow. Harry ceased rubbing at his wrist and instead stood up a little straighter. 

“We both know you did something. The only thing I don’t know is how,”

Riddle strolled over to the back wall with his hands tucked cosily into his trouser pockets. He then turned and rest his head upon it, setting his eyes for a long-term stare on Harry.

“I took care of him for you. Must I tell you how?”

“You almost threw me under a bus, so yes, think I deserve that much at least,”

Riddle scoffed.

“Threw you under-!” he righted himself against the wall. “I made you look sympathetic, vulnerable. To show Dumbledore you weren’t worth his time, or his suspicion. I helped you! You should be thanking me!”

“You what?” Harry screwed up his face. 

“You said that we were part of the reason Dumbledore didn’t like you. And everyone loves a victim,”

“So, you did what?”

“I called in a favour or two. Dumbledore just ‘happened to overhear something’; is that what he told you?”

Harry nodded with a clutched jaw. Riddle laughed, full of glee that his calculations had fallen into place. 

“People like to put a lot of stock into chance, don’t they?”

Riddle pulled off from the wall and inched towards Harry. 

“Dumbledore happens to hear that poor, little Harry was being bullied because somebody announced to the whole big bad world that he was a bastard child. That his muggle mother had been left by his wizard father because of her blood. That poor little Harry had never met his father, never even knew who he was. That he was scum on his father’s boots. That he was struggling to rebuild his image in Slytherin. Does that sound like someone you would pity? Because I would,”

Harry’s jaw squeezed the life out of the insult he was raring to spit at Riddle and he measured his next response with careful precision so that he didn’t turn reckless and do something silly. 

“Never knew who his father was?”

“No chance of you planning on taking over the family then. So, you’re really not a threat,”

“And what if he hears I’m a Potter?” 

“Didn’t you know? A little girl came up with that rumour. A first year looking for a bit of prestige. And a Slytherin first year. I told you I’d take care of that didn’t I?

“Even if Dumbledore did hear something, once he learns of the source, in no way would he believe it was the original. He’d just think it was speculation made after the truth got out. Don’t worry, there is no way this can be connected back to **either** of us,”

Harry swallowed as he begrudgingly accepted into his senses that cologne again. 

“Dumbledore said to me that he’d stop any further rumours as well,”

“Well, you’re definitely covered then, aren’t you?” Riddle leaned in closer to Harry with his hands resting on the base of his back. “Don’t you have many friends in high places,”

Harry whirled around to keep Riddle in his sights as Riddle pushed past him. 

“Riddle!” 

He stopped.

“Why?” 

Riddle turned around, a sobering boredom on his face. 

“Why did you do that for me? I didn’t ask,”

Riddle sighed. 

“’It was but a simple favour, Harry. You had a problem with Dumbledore, and I fixed it,”

“Oh, and now I happen to owe you a favour? How many favours do I owe you now? Are you keeping a list?”

Riddle gave him a cold look, and Harry savoured it.

“I bet you are,” he said, sneering. “I bet you’re jotting it all down in that little diary of yours. I bet you’re counting up all these little things and biding your time until you can cash in the check. Well, hate to break it to you, but none of that counts because I’ve never asked for any of it,”

Riddle didn’t attempt any more masks; it seemed he grew tired of having to keep holding them up. He instead stalked over to Harry, with a glint of pure rage in his eyes that rendered delight in his prey. 

But then, he stopped up short and suddenly a mask was back on. 

“Would you like me to take it all away?” the control which he possessed over his voice unnerved Harry a little, especially when he knew what was under it. In fact, it unnerved him so much, he couldn’t find any words.

“Because I can, you know,” Riddle said, inching closer and itching to reach out and strangle Harry with his bare hands. 

“I can make it all go away,” his eyes lowered darkly. “Everything; poof! If I but command it,” he swallowed and then took a step back.

“But I like you Harry, and I think your pride is simply getting in the way here, so I’m going to let this one slide,”

Riddle flicked his sinister brown eyes back up at Harry.

“But you would be wise to remember who has the power here,” 

“Don’t you dare threaten me,” Harry whispered viciously. 

“I would never. You’re my friend, aren’t you?” It seemed his charm had clocked back in again, much to Harry’s disgust.

“That doesn’t mean anything to you,” 

Riddle tutted and shook his head. 

“Come now Harry, I would have thought you of all people would have learned by now the difference between being my friend and not. Now, let’s get moving. I’m a demon when I’m famished,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, little late with this one. My apologies, I decided to do to many things at once last weekend and ended up running out of time to finish me chapter. 
> 
> Lestrange will make an appearance again next chapter and Altair and Arc will have a little chat with Harry. (And probably Malfoy too).
> 
> Righty-o. See you all next week, take care.


	23. Theories and Hypothesis

Harry was stuck in a cul-de-sac somewhere in the basement of Hogwarts. 

How did he get there, I hear you ask? Well, on the way back from dinner, Altair and Arc had dragged him away from the main pack and down a slip of a corridor at a fast sprint. Thereafter, they pulled him this way and that until he was dizzy. 

Before Harry knew it, he was at an entirely unknown part of the castle with no idea how to get back to the Slytherin dorms. And he was caged in by two very intense looking guardsmen.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, inching away from them.

“That’s what we’d like to know,” Altair said, reinstalling the same distance as before with Harry. 

Harry looked between the two of them with a queasy smile on his face. 

“Uh… sure. I just… don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to be telling you?”

“We want to know what’s going on with Riddle. Why are you keeping us in the dark?” Arc said, crossing his arms.

Harry spluttered.

“The dark?”

“Well, we’re sitting with Riddle again. We’re spending our free time with him, **again**. Why?” 

Altair pressed on further, so that Harry was forced to back up against the wall. 

“Not to mention the fact that I saw you chatting and studying with him the other night,” Arc probed.

“I told you we were only doing that Transfigurations essay!”

“Yeah, but why?”

“… ‘Cause he offered? And it would have been awkward to refuse?” Harry said unconvincingly, holding his hands up close to his chest. 

“Harry,” Altair announced, with clear command present in his voice. Harry blinked at him.

“Tell us what your plan is,” he finished. Arc joined him at his shoulder. Harry had about a half-metre’s distance away from their monolithic bodies. 

He prepared his mouth to speak, but aborted what he was about to say. Then, he sighed and relaxed his stance. He could just… tell them the truth, right? 

“I don’t really know,” 

Rosier stepped back and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“You don’t know?”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Arc chipped in, very helpfully.

Harry shrugged and jumbled his hands together in front of his chest. 

“I… have no clue,” he felt an unwelcome blush colour his cheeks. It was embarrassing to admit out loud; it made him sound incompetent rather than wise. 

“But, Riddle-”

“Arc, I told you, _he_ came over to me wanting to talk. I don’t know what I’m doing with him just yet,”

Altair’s eyes lit up with a bubbling glee. 

“You mean to say, you **are** going to do something with him?” 

Harry froze.

“Well-”

“What? What are you planning Harry?” 

Harry bristled at the tone of Altair’s voice. He still didn’t fully trust the boy. How could he? He couldn’t exactly tell them he was trying to usurp Riddle; they would never get it. And worse, they could let something slip.

“I told you, **I don’t know**. I don’t have a bloody plan. I’m not sure why I need one. What’s with all this talk of plans? Why do you desperately want plans?”

Arc and Altair were taken aback. They had just assumed that Harry wouldn’t go back to Riddle without a fight. They had expected something, a practical joke or an insult. Some form of revenge. But Harry didn’t seem bloodthirsty at all. Even though Riddle was the one who set Neil upon him (at least, that was what they had come to believe), Harry was contented to play happy families. Perhaps, _they_ were the bloodthirsty ones, and they simply hadn’t recognised the feeling. 

“But, why are you warming up to Riddle?” Altair said in a jaded voice. “Surely that has some purpose?” 

“Me? Warming up to Riddle?” Harry pointed a finger at himself to make sure they were certain of who they were talking to. 

“But of course!” Arc spluttered “First, he helps you with homework, then, you come sauntering in with him to the Great Hall, _late_ might I add, for dinner-”

“Saunter? I’m most certainly did **not** saunter,” 

“You bloody well did!” 

“Arc, calm down,” Altair premised, before turning back to Harry. “Harry, you must be able to appreciate how this makes us look. Both Arc and I shunned our friends one day and the next, we’re back to eating together. It paints us as flaky characters and weak. And we weren’t even the one’s invited back. Surely you must know _something_ of Riddle’s intentions by now?”

Harry regarded Altair deeply and then, for a moment, Arc. 

“I have a theory,” 

Altair let out an audible breath.

“Let’s hear it then,” Arc said, reconnecting his arms to their prior crossed position.

“It is just a theory, not gospel truth,” Harry warned.

“Go on,” Altair urged testily. 

“Well… I think that perhaps Riddle only wants to be friends with me because I am friends with the both of you,”

They both looked at Harry as if they were still waiting for him to speak. Then Arc looked to Altair.

“I don’t get it,”

“Explain your theory, Harry,” The cracks were already starting to form in Altair’s composure, so Harry scrambled to further his point.

“Well, why would Riddle want to be friends with me?”

Altair crossed his arms. 

“Because Slughorn was watching us,”

“Right, but then afterwards, why? I mean, once he had gotten rid of me, why do you think he invited me back again?”

“We don’t know; that’s the whole point,” Arc said, but it seemed as if Altair was starting to understand. 

“Because you are my friends. And Riddle wants to be friends with you,”

“Well then, why wouldn’t he just become friends with us? Why reach out to you first?”

“Because we would stick by Harry,” Altair said, as if all the loose ends created over the past few days were suddenly discovered to have been tied together all this time. 

Harry nodded at Altair.

“Riddle doesn’t really actually care about me; he cares far more about you two,”

Altair furrowed his eyebrows at looked imploringly at Harry.

“Why?”

Harry chuffed and made a despondent circling with his hands.

“You’re both pureblooded and you have more social influence than I,”

“But you happen to be connected; to us,” Altair said, lowering his hands into his pockets and fully admiring Harry’s theory. 

“And that’s the only reason I’m still around. He hasn’t suddenly grown a love for me overnight. He’s simply using me to get to you two,” Harry scuffed the floor with his shoes. 

“And who knows, if you come to like him more than me, what’s to say I won’t be discarded again? He holds my lineage over my head still, even if he’s endeavoured to destroy the rumours for now,”

Arc scoffed. 

“That ba-… I cannot believe him. The uppity-!”

“Well then, we can’t let that happen, can we?” 

Harry narrowed his eyes at Altair and Arc pushed out his bottom lip to silence his grievances. 

“We have to make sure that he doesn’t use us,”

Harry slowly lifted his foot and placed it closer to Altair with a sway of his hip. 

“What do you propose?” Harry queried. 

Arc looked between the two of them and decided to shuffle closer himself. Altair lowered his eyes to collect his thoughts for a moment. 

“Mulciber,” he raised his eyes to see hunger in his friends’.

“You both remember, I’m sure, when Mulciber and I left the room after that knock?”

“Of course, how could we not? That knock is always meant for Mulciber,”

“Yes, well,” Altair looked flustered “That day it was meant for me as well,”

“Go on,” Harry said in a lowered, heated voice. Altair’s eyes flickered for a moment.

“Mulciber brought me to Riddle’s room. Well, Avery, Lestrange, Dolohov, and Riddle’s room. Anyway, they were all seated on the upper platform of the room around an oval table with Riddle facing the door,” Altair ran a distracted hand through his curls, tousling them in a windswept way, and breathed out. 

“Riddle said that Head Boys had a tradition of hailing a secret privy council and that he thought I would be perfect for it,”

Harry couldn’t help but gasp; could it be, the Knights of Walpurgis? 

“And what did you talk about?” Harry asked. Altair pursed his lips. 

“General school things really. Nothing too serious. Riddle basically bounced ideas off us and we responded with our own thoughts. He said after our council, he would bring the ideas we deemed successful to the Head Girl and all the prefects,”

“Can you remember any of the ideas?”

Altair shook his head.

“Not really. I believe there was talk of introducing a wizarding sweets stall onsite, where you could buy chocolate frogs and the like, but other than that, nothing really jogs my memory. It was a very standard meeting,”

Harry stole a glance at the far wall for some space to think. Well, surely that couldn’t have been the Knights then. The Knights talked about darker things. At least, Harry assumed they did. After all, they were precursors to the Death Eaters… weren’t they? It occurred to Harry that he didn’t really know the answer for sure. 

He had assumed, naturally, that they were, but could there have been a chance they weren’t? What if Riddle had kept the organisation PG until they graduated. Maybe Head Boys really did have a secret privy council and Harry had just never heard of it because he’d never been invited. 

“So that was it. You were part of a Student Council for a day,” Arc said, his lip curling snobbishly. 

“That was it. I was brought back to the room by Mulciber and we both immediately went to bed. And ever since I distanced myself from the group, I haven’t been invited back,”

“Right…” Arc enunciated slowly. “And why exactly are you telling us this?”

“Don’t you see?” Altair said, looking between the two of them as if the answer was as clear as a summer’s day. “Mulciber is in Riddle’s privy council. He is our only roommate on said council,”

“So, you’re suggesting we compromise Mulciber?” Harry questioned. 

“I’m suggesting that Mulciber is more important to Riddle than any of us. I’m sure their meeting was watered down in my presence. Who knows what kind of important decisions are normally made in that council,”

“Of course,” Harry whispered. 

“If we could get Mulciber on our side, we’d have eyes and ears in the council,”

“And what makes you think Mulciber will be swayed by us?” Arc asked, raising a perfectly valid point. “Surely, he’ll report everything we do and say back to Riddle and we’ll be played for fools ourselves,”

“Mulciber has always wanted to be my friend from day one, we both know that,” Altair began, turning his attention solely onto Arc. “It was only after I turned him down that he began befriending Riddle, or rather, Riddle began befriending him. We can use that to our advantage,”

“I think you’re both correct to a degree,” Harry interrupted. The other participants in the conversation looked at him instead of one another. 

“I have noticed Mulciber’s interest in Altair myself and I think this could work,” Harry continued, beginning a short pace from one corner of the back wall to the other. 

“However, I don’t think we can trust him to be unequivocally on our side after being friends with Riddle for so long. In my opinion, we don’t need an eyes and ears at all. What we need to do is steal him from Riddle. Far less risk of being exposed and far more painful for Riddle,”

Harry stopped and moved in closer to the form a tight triangle with Arc and Altair. 

“Imagine the public humiliation, to have a known confidant of his, _choosing_ to be friends with someone other than him,”

Altair’s eyes glittered and Arc grinned menacingly. 

“That _would_ be humiliating,” he spoke through the grin. 

“We’d undermine him like he undermined us,” Altair responded chillingly. 

Harry nodded. 

Well, now he had more accomplices to Riddle’s destruction, and these accomplices knew nothing about the other accomplice’s involvement (and vice vera, actually). Things were really starting to get messy, weren’t they?

The training grounds were a spirited sight on a Thursday morning, with first years of all shapes and sizes clambering onto school brooms and twisting around until they got so dizzy, they were close to vomiting. 

The sky was lathered with the seasonal cloud cover and the patches of blue visible were watery and pale. The sun was largely in hiding but would occasionally peek out to say hello and warm your bones. 

A scarf wasn’t exactly necessary but would be encouraged by enthusiastic mothers. Harry though didn’t have a mother, and had decided therefore to leave his scarf in the trunk under his bed. Lestrange, on the other hand, was wearing his.

“Oh, that’s cold!” Harry yelped, once his side came into contact with the window panel overlooking the training grounds. 

Lestrange chuckled as he settled in across from Harry, on the opposite end on the sill, and unwound his scarf. 

Harry and Lestrange had (apparently) _both_ benefitted from Lestrange’s translating abilities on Harry’s book. ‘Stars and their Majesty’ was almost completely translated, and there were only a few chapters left before the bell had gone the previous day. 

Lestrange had suggested that they convene again the following day and finish up the book. As Harry had unfortunately not yet found what he was looking for, he was only delighted to take Lestrange up on his offer. 

It slightly worried him how he didn’t know what Lestrange had to gain from this, but he was comfortably sure that Riddle was not involved. From all appearances, Riddle seemed to have no idea of their meeting and Lestrange had acted no more familiarly towards Harry than usual since then. So, Harry had no choice but to believe Lestrange had told the truth; Riddle would not hear of their meeting. 

Not that it would matter to Harry much; he couldn’t care less whether Riddle knew that Lestrange was helping him and Lestrange didn’t seem interested in asking any incriminating questions. If Harry were being honest, he would have to admit that being in Lestrange’s company was quite pleasant. 

He was an easy-going chap, and whilst he didn’t always have much to say, what he did say was important and to the point. And my God, was he polite. Harry hadn’t ever met a man more determined to walk on eggshells! 

“I brought the dictionary; do you have your book?” 

Harry produced the purple leather-bound ‘Stars and their Majesty’ from his satchel and laid it between them. 

“Wonderful,” Lestrange curled some fingers under the book’s spine and lifted it up onto his lap. He repopulated its prior spot with his runic dictionary.

Harry leaned back against the tiny jut of wall out from the window and encasing the sill, and simply watched Lestrange as he leafed through the pages of the book. 

“Thank you,”

Lestrange paused, denying himself the right to look up from his work just yet.

“For what?”

Harry glanced out the window and watched as the first years tried to master their brooms.

“For helping me. For being so nice,”

Now Lestrange looked up.

“You’re thanking me for being nice?” he flicked his eyes back down to jumbles of runic sentences. “Is that something that warrants gratitude to you?”

“When it is in short supply, yes. Because that means it’s harder to do,” 

Harry started fidgeting with his fingers.

“Short supply?”

“Slytherins don’t necessarily exude it, do they?”

Lestrange scrutinised him.

“You don’t like Slytherins, do you?”

Harry met his eyes.

“It depends, I suppose. Some I like, despite their faults, others…” he looked back out the window.

“What do you think of me?” Lestrange said quietly. 

Harry smiled, both at Lestrange and a first-year dangling on a backwards broom.

“I like you. You’re probably the sanest out of us all,”

Lestrange blushed and yanked a strand of hair behind his ear. 

“I don’t know about _that_ ,”

“Well, I do,”

Lestrange occupied himself again with looking up terms. Harry slumped further down the wall. He watched as Lestrange murmured words from a bygone era and strung nonsense into sense under his breath. 

“I think I’ve got it,” Lestrange shuffled into a more comfortable position as Harry straightened his posture. 

“Let’s hear it,”

Lestrange cleared his throat and squinted at the page.

“This bit is about time, I believe,”

Harry straightened further.

“Time and the stars,” Lestrange began broadcasting “It has been a long-contested fact that, uh, the stars may hold the power to… influence time itself,”

Harry, like a pointer dog might, leaned forward (though perhaps less dramatically). Lestrange was briefly distracted by him, but quickly regained his place in the paragraph.

“Stars, as we have come to learn, are immensely powerful, but… they are also… very hard to tame, I suppose would be the best translation there. To tame a star, one must be, uh, patient and controlled. There must be great balance within one’s self as stars do not listen to… mmm… flaky individuals, shall we say?

“One must have a clear vision, a one-track mind with no indecision. But even then… sometimes it is, uh, difficult to control a star. There is often no immediate… uh, sign that the process has indeed worked. Out of all the possible magics available, time travel is indeed the most… disputed aspect of star magic,

“Very few have been capable of achieving it and there is a substantial… lack of evidence, uh, that, uh, it can even be done. There is not even a theory available, only a hypothesis. And even though, it would seem entirely possible by hypothesis, unfortunately in practise… it is, uh, hard to disguise from the… from here-say and actual fact,

“Some have claimed to have achieved time travel, others believe these… well, there’s no direct translation but, uh, let’s say… others believe these people to be fraudulent. Others say that there is simply no connection strong enough to warrant… uh… usage of this magic. As we have discussed, connections are all that matter when producing star magic, and often people mistake this as… belief,”

“Does it actually mention the hypothesis at all?” Harry muttered impatiently, leaning backwards with a growing despondency harboured in his chest.

“Um… Ah, yes, here!” Harry retook his position.

“After all my years of study of the subject, I have developed a hypothesis on the matter. I do believe it, meaning time travel, can be done. In fact, I believe that it is the only reliable and meaningful method of time travel on the market. Who knows exactly how powerful… he goes on for a bit there… ah, here we are,

“A sacrifice of souls would likely be necessary, though how many, it is unsure. The more the better, I’d imagine. The individual must be in a state of deep meditation. They must have a head clear of any and all thoughts except that of their desire; what you want to do with the time travel, I suppose. One must surrender all ego, all… wishes of success, and one must surrender completely to the stars,” 

Lestrange didn’t say anything else, and Harry thought for a moment that there was more to be said, but then he looked up from the book and at Harry. 

“That’s it?” Harry asked.

“That’s it,” the despondency made a hearty return. “The author did say it was only a hypothesis. There isn’t really any evidence to suggest it can occur,”

Harry groaned and swung a leg disappointedly from his perch. His toe was still an inch or so off the floor. 

“Nothing at all?”

Lestrange looked back at the book, to satiate Harry more than anything, and returned his gaze, shaking his head. 

“Ugh, of course,” Harry let go of his hands. 

“Sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for,” Lestrange said quietly with soft eyes. 

“I’m sorry Perseus, I realise now how that must have sounded. I really appreciate your help, I’m just sad it wasn’t what I was looking for,”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s a fair hypothesis. It would probably be your best bet for time travel, significant time travel that is,” Lestrange looked down at his hands and watched as they closed the book on his lap.

“Do you want to use it to save your mother?” 

Despite the tense (meaning present tense) being wrong and the long list of other names excluded from that question, Harry nodded. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat. 

“Harry,” Lestrange said softly, kindly. 

Harry flicked his eyes over to him. Lestrange offered a caring smile. 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Harry said.

Lestrange dipped his head.

“Of course, Harry. I won’t tell a soul. I promise,” Lestrange swallowed and then raised his head again, a cautious look on his face.

“But Harry,” Lestrange hesitated. “Time travel is never a good idea, not really. Anything you do can alter the timeline. Even the smallest of gestures can accidentally change the course of history. And even actions which you think will be positive, such as changing something you didn’t like, it can have catastrophic, unforeseen consequences. You could destroy your entire life with time travel,”

Harry quirked up a corner of his mouth. Solid points from Lestrange, but it wasn’t exactly things Harry didn’t know. There wasn’t exactly a manual of what to do after you’d time travelled though, and that was what Harry desperately needed. 

“Thanks Lestrange,”

Lestrange grinned. 

“You’ve done it again,” 

Harry quirked an eyebrow.

“You’ve called me Lestrange,” Harry chuckled.

“Perseus; I meant to say Perseus,”

“Please do, I’d prefer it if we weren’t too formal with one another,” Perseus spoke with mirth. 

“Me too,” 

They smiled at one another. Perseus was the first to break it. 

“I’m almost sorry you’ve found what you were looking for. I was quite enjoying our clandestine meetings,”

“Yeah, it was fun,” Harry grinned to himself. 

He looked at Perseus, who seemed dispirited. 

“Perhaps, we could do this again sometime?” he proposed, watching to see Perseus’ reaction. 

He seemed shocked.

“You mean that?” he asked.

“Of course I do! It’s nice talking to you,”

“It’s nice talking to you too,” Perseus mumbled, blushing.

Harry stopped grinning as reality caught up with him. Suddenly, his body behaved more stiffly, formality creeping back into his movements.

Perseus noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

Harry blinked at him and then dissolved into nervous laughter. He cupped the back of his neck.

“Nothing! Just a crick in my neck,” He continued to breathlessly laugh as he mimed working out the crick. 

He settled back into his seat and attempted a return to normalcy which Lestrange seemed to accept without any suspicion.

Harry liked Lestrange a lot; he was a decent fellow with strong morals, a pleasant manner, and a shared interest. But, could he trust him?

The answer was no. As long as Lestrange was roommates with Riddle and in his inner circle, Harry couldn’t possibly give Lestrange his complete trust. 

It seemed, as it always did in his life, that one timeless mantra still applied; Harry couldn’t have his cake and eat it too.

“Riddle, can I talk to you for a moment?” 

Riddle turned around to see Harry with a disgruntled satchel slung across his shoulder and a hand hidden from view. He looked among his compatriots for a moment ( _their_ compatriots) and decorated his excuses with a charming smile. 

“Harry, how may I help you?”

Harry briefly caught the eyes of Arc and Altair, but they didn’t linger on him. Instead, they hurried to walk beside Mulciber. 

“I wanted to give you back this,” 

Harry moved his hand to the space that occupied their fronts. 

“’Stars and their Majesty’?” Riddle intoned, making a slow motion to receive it. “You want to give this back to me?”

“Well, you have to return it to the library, don’t you? You were the one who took it out,” 

Harry shoved the book into Riddle’s hand, forcing him to take it, as he was beginning to become impatient at how slow he was moving.

As he began taking off, Riddle locked his hand around Harry’s arm. 

“Stay,” he ordered. 

“Why the hell should I?” Harry said with a lot more aggression than he had meant. 

It didn’t seem to ruffle Riddle though. 

“You still have a day; why are you giving it back so early?”

“Because I’ve finished it Riddle,”

Riddle gave him a look.

“Surely you couldn’t be finished it _that_ early,”

“Why; because it took you longer?” Harry gave him a look, daring him to admit he had given Harry a runic book. He instead got a look back that simmered with carefully contained anger. 

“Did you not read all of it?” Riddle replied tersely. “Tut, tut, Harry. It was a peace offering; you should have finished it. Do you wish to hurt my feelings?”

“More than anything,” Harry growled, dictating his sentence with a jerky removal of his arm from Riddle’s grasp. Riddle looked discretely around them, checking how much attention they were gathering. 

It was a sizable amount. 

“This way,” he said under his breath, a smile plastered on his face. 

Harry considered not following him, but when he forked off from Riddle, a hand was once again latched onto his arm. And this one was much harder to remove. 

Harry almost couldn’t feel his arm by the time they returned to the alcove they had hid in yesterday. He was unceremoniously thrust free from Riddle’s grasp. 

“What were you thinking, acting like a savage like that in public?” Riddle fumed. 

“ _Me_ acting like a savage? Maybe _you_ should stop being so infuriating!”

“ _Me_ , infuriating? _**Me**_?!” Riddle crowded into Harry’s space with unbridled anger flaring behind his eyes. 

Harry pushed him back and then crowded into Riddle’s space.

“Who was the one who gave me a bloody book full of ancient runes as a peace offering?” Harry shoved a finger into Riddle’s face, which Riddle harshly pushed away. 

“It’s not my fault you don’t know ancient runes,” he said, pushing Harry. Harry quickly scrambled back into position, standing intimidatingly close to Riddle. 

“But it _is_ your fault for giving me a book full of it as a ‘peace offering’, whatever the hell _that_ means, knowing full well that I can’t speak the bloody language!”

Riddle didn’t respond; he just tried to regulate his breathing before he did something he would regret. 

It was then that Harry realised how close they had gotten. He pulled back before he could notice Riddle’s cologne again, as he didn’t like the way it always muddled his other senses. 

He ran a hand over his face, feeling his anger quickly wear off. When he looked up, it seemed like it had worn off Riddle too, as he was simply watching Harry with no visible emotion. 

“Never mind, I just wanted to give you back the book without any fuss, but apparently that wasn’t possible. I have to go off to dinner now; I have Quidditch practise in a bit,”

Harry was caught before he could leave.

“Please remove your hand,”

“Who was it?”

Harry huffed out a sigh and looked at Riddle, realising his hand wouldn’t be swayed until he had gotten over his fit of madness.

“Who was what?”

The grip tightened.

“Who helped you with the runes?”

Harry chuffed.

“Ah, so you admit it then; you chose the book knowing I’d need help!” 

Harry was tugged painfully closer to Riddle, where he struggled to avoid Riddle’s severe eyes. 

“Let go!” he protested, focusing on loosening Riddle’s fingers around his bicep.

“Who?”

“No one, okay! I got a dictionary and did it myself!” 

“Look at me in the eyes!” Riddle growled, yanking Harry around by the arm to a position where Harry would be forced to look at him. 

“Why should I?!” Harry shouted, closing his eyes to avoid Riddle’s. 

He went into emergency mode, clearing his mind of everything he could and implementing the step-by-step process of heightening his Occlumency shields. He tried to regulate his breathing but couldn’t help its irregularity whilst he fought against Riddle.

Eventually, Riddle got tired of manhandling and instead thumped Harry against the wall. The shock flung his eyes open and, well, onto Riddle’s. He felt an immediate probing but centred himself and focused on being present within his own body, present at his shields. 

Riddle’s eyelids flickered open and closed. He pressed in closer, intensifying the direction of his eyes straight into Harry’s very soul. 

By Merlin, it was difficult not to cave into the pressure. And if he were facing a mature Voldemort, Harry wasn’t sure he would have been able for it. But luckily for him, this Voldemort still had a few Legilimency tricks to kink out, and whilst it took immense effort, Harry was just that much more motivated to defend his blocks. 

If Harry hadn’t prepared himself though, there would have been zero way could have defended himself.

“You’re an Occlumens,” Riddle marvelled, blinking slowly as if awaking from a dream. His grip weakened. 

Harry didn’t say anything, he just breathed through his nose (which he shouldn’t have done because of that **blasted cologne**!) and pushed himself free.

He left without a further word and went straight to the kitchens to grab a sandwich before practise. Actually, he ended up eating two; all that Occlumency sure does build up an appetite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry being a role model in this chapter by returning his library books on time. Good on you Harry!
> 
> It has come to my brain's attention that I haven't told you guys the timetable for the seventh year Slytherins. I actually have an excel document produced on it so that I can refer to it whilst writing. Serious author, everyone. 
> 
> Anyway, it goes as follows:  
> Monday: Charms, Arithmancy/Divination, **Lunch** , Potions, Ancient Runes  
> Tuesday: Herbology/History of Magic (Double), **Lunch** , Defence, Transfig  
> Wednesday: Arithmancy/Divination, Ancient Runes, **Lunch** , Potions, Transfig  
> Thursday: Herbology/History of Magic, Arithmancy/Divination, **Lunch** , Potions, Transfig  
> Friday: Defence (Double), **Lunch** , Charms (Double), Ancient Runes
> 
> As you can see, Friday has an extra class at the end because I simply couldn't fit it into the schedule otherwise and some schools (in Ireland anyway) operate in a similar way. 
> 
> From now on, the biweekly uploads shall commence, so it will feel like some time before the next chapter is out. I already have rough plans as to events in the story but basically, the next thing we're building up to is Halloween. Then after that, it will be Christmas when we have our next significant event. In between these milestones will essentially be a load of build-ups to the milestone itself. 
> 
> Anyway, next time, the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff (I'm pretty sure that's right, but I'm too lazy to check) will commence. So, that means some more Sam time and... other people time. 
> 
> See you all in two weeks. Byeeeeeeeeee


	24. Hufflepuff v Gryffindor

Harry awoke to an odd ruffling sound coming from his right. A ghostly white blob emerged, shimmering, between the curtains of his bed. With a jump, Harry summoned his glasses to his face and his wand to his hand. 

But it was only Malfoy. 

“Malfoy? What the hell are you doing?” Harry asked, as the culprit slid through the curtains and slipped onto the end of his bed. 

“I am asking you what you're doing,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to interrupt someone’s (albeit fitful) sleep and sit on the end of their bed wearing a green silken gown.

“Well, you first,” Harry sat up properly, though thoroughly disgruntled. 

“I have just told you why I am here. I need answers,”

“I’m not in the mood for mind games; what about, Malfoy?” 

Malfoy sighed and splayed his hands on the sheets of the bed, smoothing them for no reason discernible to Harry. 

“It should really be obvious Harry. We’ve hardly talked since Monday night. And things have happened. I’d like to know what those things are,”

Harry rubbed the side of his head groggily, pouting with lips swollen from tiredness.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he grumbled into his palm.

“I want you to say what your plan is with Riddle,”

“I don’t have a plan with Riddle,” he moaned, but Malfoy silenced him with a sharp look.

“You must,”

“I don’t,” Harry began sobering himself up.

“You must,” Malfoy reaffirmed. 

Harry pushed his fingers behind his glasses to rub his eyelids. He wasn’t going to say anything to that.

“Why else would Riddle be acting so strangely?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Oh, Evans, don’t try and act coy,” Malfoy admonished. “He was obviously staring at you all today, but you kept avoiding him,” Harry cringed. Yeah, that hadn’t been fun. Riddle was a hard man to avoid. In fairness, if Harry had been put in the same situation, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to let sleeping dogs lie either. It was quite the revelation, to find out someone knew an obsure-ish mind magic, especially when most of your peers were only at the 'exploding whoopie cushion' stage of magical integrity. 

Harry had fought hard not to be left alone with Riddle and thankfully Arc and Altair were clingy enough that Harry never had to be. Even so, Riddle's piercing stare had such an effect that Harry had to keep checking his clothes hadn’t been magically melted off his body. 

“Well, he was harassing me-”

“Yes, but why was he harassing you? Riddle doesn’t just harass people for the sake of it. He doesn’t have the time,” 

Harry wanted to quip something back, but he couldn’t find enough energy to argue an opposition. He instead decided to focus on a stance of current affairs conducive to Malfoy’s curiosity. 

It was probably a little unfair to have kept Malfoy so clueless up until now, especially what with them being supposed partners in crime (or justice, depending on your view). But, in light of the hectic nature of the week, Harry was willing to cut himself some slack. Malfoy had taken residence not in the backseat of his mind, but in the bloody boot of the car. 

And what a complex relationship they now had. Really, it was reckless to not have contemplated it sooner. Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. What to do about Malfoy…

“I… I suppose there have been a few developments…”

Malfoy squinted at him.

“And they are?”

Harry adjusted his legs under the covers so that they were a little closer to his upper body. 

“Well…” Harry trailed off and smoothed a hand over the hairs on his arm. Then he let out a breath and looked Malfoy in the eye. 

“Riddle gave me a runic book as a peace offering,”

Malfoy’s eyes lit up.

“That book he gave you? It was runic?”

Harry nodded.

“’Stars and their Majesty’; that was the name of the book he gave me. All the good stuff was written in ancient runes. I, of course, can’t read ancient runes, so it was a bit of an insult to say the least,”

“So what did you do? Did you say something to Riddle?” Malfoy asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Sure, I did. He seemed annoyed that I was able to finish it,”

“Perhaps because he wanted to help you?”

“Hum?”

“Well, by giving you a runic book, perhaps he was hoping that you’d rely on him to translate it for you,”

“And become more in his debt?”

“Perhaps just to learn to like him?” Malfoy countered with an elevated nose. The response wasn’t intended, Harry didn’t think, to be condescending, but unfortunately Malfoy wasn’t blessed with a kind face. 

“Why?”

“So that you’d be on his side of course,”

“Yeah, I guess manipulation would be easier if the person actually liked you,” Harry said, belatedly looking up at Malfoy and realising that perhaps that comment hit a little too close for comfort. 

“Well, of course,” Malfoy sniffed. “But was that all?”

“What?” Harry blinked at Malfoy.

“Well,” Malfoy swiped a hand across the green of his nightgown. “It seems a bit much to react so drastically to,”

“Drastically? What’s so drastic about staring,”

“I believe after the hour mark, it falls into such a category,” Malfoy stopped stroking the nightgown and instead drilled his eyes into Harry. 

In a moment of panic, Harry threw his Occlumency shields up, but Malfoy didn't seem understand the sudden abruptness to Harry’s straightened posture. He raised an eyebrow which Harry knew he couldn’t evade. He’d have to come up with something, anything, to appease him now. 

“An hour?”

“What happened?” Malfoy pressed intently. Harry’s expression soured with disappointment. 

“I-I gave the book back to him to return to the library…”

“And?”

Harry bit his lip. Could he tell Malfoy? Would it be a horrible idea? But Riddle already knew it, so its not like it would be detrimental-

“And?” 

“He figured out that I’m an Occlumens,” Harry blurted out, midway through his musings. The tumbling of words made the action feel like a mistake, but now they were scattered into the night air and it was far too late to retrieve them and place them back into his mouth. 

“You’re a what?” Malfoy seemed baffled. 

“An Occlumens,” Harry admitted. “Well, I know it, Occlumency that it. I’m not incredible at it or anything,”

“Wait, so how did he find this out? Did he-“ Malfoy’s eyebrows leaned backwards and rose up his forehead as he leaned closer to Harry. “Did he use Legilimency on you?” 

Harry nodded solemnly. 

“And you were able to stop him?”

Harry nodded again. 

Malfoy was utterly stunned. Jaw-dropping, eye widening, heavy breathing kind of stunned. Harry would almost be insulted about it if Riddle weren’t involved. A choked sound escaped Malfoy’s throat as he tried to string a sentence together. 

“W- I can’t believe you were able to subdue... You must be good,” 

Harry winced and tightened his shoulders. 

“I wouldn’t say that I’m good-”

“No, no, Evans. I am not stating an opinion, I am stating a fact; you are good. If you could beat Riddle at a mind magic, you are good,”

“I-” It was only because he was prepared, that he knew Riddle could do it. He had even had him in his head before, so he had a vague idea of where he’d attack first (not, of course, that Riddle would be aware of this). But, Harry decided to take the compliment anyway with an inclination of his head. It wasn’t often that he was complimented by a Malfoy. 

“Evans, you must teach me,” Malfoy urgued. 

Oh. Oh no. Oh shit.

“Malfoy-”

Malfoy held up a slender finger a good metre away from Harry’s mouth.

“I can predict what you’re about to say. I will not take no for an answer,”

Harry’s shoulders slumped.

“Why not?” he whined. 

“Don’t be dim Evans, it is important for us both that I learn,” Malfoy lowered his hand and settled it in the waves on his lap.

“I hadn’t thought he would do something like that. I didn’t know he could…” Malfoy shook his head clear. “Anyway, if Riddle has such a skill, it just makes him more dangerous. Now that he knows you are an Occlumens, he’ll know that he can’t get information out of you. What if he comes to me?”

“He doesn’t even know that we’re working together!” 

“That doesn’t mean that he won’t ever know! One of us could let something slip,” (Harry had a feeling that Malfoy was trying to insinuate Harry would be the one to blow their cover, if his snootiness was anything to go by, but he decided to ignore it) “Besides,” Malfoy ran a hand through his hair “He believes that I saw something of your future. What’s to say that he won’t try to peer into my head, clarify what it was exactly that I saw. Especially now that you’ve essentially gone and intrigued him further,”

Harry lowered his head like an admonished schoolboy. Yeah, he hadn’t considered all of that; it did have a ringing of Riddle off of it. 

"So, you'll teach me Occlumency," Malfoy stated. It wasn't necessary, but Harry nodded his head anyway to make himself feel as if he had some input in the decision.

"I really don't know how to teach though,"

"Well you're lucky that you have an intelligent student then," Malfoy preened, puffing out his chest. 

Harry sighed. 

"Alright, well we obviously have to do it in secret-"

"Obviously-"

"-So... shall we say here at the stroke of midnight?" 

Malfoy scoffed.

"Midnight? Do be a little more creative than that Harry. Everyone always chooses then for elusive meetings,"

"Alright then," Harry spoke through a strained smile. "What time do you suggest, oh wise one?"

"Quarter past the hour. Of twelve, that is. It's an odd time, won't cause suspicion,"

"What a revolutionary idea! Quarter past twelve; no one will see it coming!" Harry held his hands up to his face and opened his mouth but he was dealt with a cruel mistress of punishment; a wordless stinging hex. 

"Every night until I get the hang of it," Malfoy and his gown flowed across the bed to the very edge of the mattress and he stuck out a hand to part the curtains. 

"Wait!" Harry called out, grabbing Malfoy before he could disturb the muffling spell. Malfoy looked first distastefully at Harry's hand and then at Harry.

Harry quickly removed his hand.

"I don't know Legilimency. How will I be able to test you, to see if the teaching worked?"

Malfoy paused, contemplating this. Harry was nurturing a little victory within himself. Of course, it was killed when Malfoy locked his eyes onto him again and he saw the resolution in them.

"Well, we'll just have to hope that you're a better teacher than you say you are," 

And he slipped away. 

Saturday was supposed to be a nice day. It was supposed to be a day of rest, dare I say joy. After spending an entire Friday avoiding Riddle (which was very hard), Harry had assured himself of the blissful company of a true friend and his favourite sport. Of course, he was about to learn that such a fancy was impossible for him to experience. But for the moment, he was in a state of calm ignorance.

He was on his way down to the Quidditch pitch, as was a litany of supporters styled in the colours of both competing houses. Harry had managed to shake off Altair and Arc by asking them to continue fanning the embers with Mulciber. Renewed with a determined purpose, they didn’t notice Harry’s retreat and subsequent escape from the library. 

After milling through the entrance grates like all the other spectators (a novel experience), he pounced straight upon the stairs up to the Gryffindor stands and scanned for a red-head.

The stands were just as charming in the 40s as they were in the 90s. Expansive yet cramped, they were the image of all well-loved things. Years and years of anxious, jubilant, and even furious feet had jumped and stamped and trudged their way across them and they almost sagged on match days with a familiar exhaustion. 

If you managed to get to the very top of the stands, you could get an almost entirely panoramic view of the surrounding Scottish countryside, devoid of humanity except for this one site of wizarding excellence. 

The steps on the stairway creaked under his foot and sighed as he moved upwards, closer to the top. 

It was easy to spot Sam in amongst the stands, looking awkward surrounded by all the Quidditch talk. He brightened when he looked over to see Harry mounting the steps. He waved and gestured to a spot beside him that Harry supposed he would have to imagine as from his angle, it didn’t exist; it was filled by a stocky Gryffindor female with (premature) 'victory' rolls floofed up from her hairline. 

“Harry! Thank god you’re here! I was starting to worry that you’d abandoned me!” 

Harry laughed as he slipped into an impossibly small spot wedged in between that girl and Sam. Sam handed him a Gryffindor scarf to wrap over his own Slytherin one. It felt nice to hold the Gryffindor colours again.

“Oh, I debated it, but my good nature overpowered me,” 

“You’re very good at being a git, you know that,” Sam joked, elbowing him in the side, causing him to bounce into the girl. She gave him a look as he apologised as if his sincerity didn’t satisfy her, but she turned away before he could become even more profuse. 

Harry held his mouth in embarrassment and turned back to Sam, hoping for a distraction. Although, unfortunately for Harry, it wouldn’t be Sam that would be his distraction.

“Oh Christ,” he muttered. Sam looked at him in concern and tried to gauge what (or in this case who) Harry was looking at. 

“What?” 

Harry’s chest built up anticipation at the thought of being seen, which was frankly inevitable, by the two people that Harry least wanted to see on a Saturday morning. Ascending the stands at a leisurely pace and wearing identically symmetrical Slytherin boas, were Riddle and Avery. Like a fly in the summertime, there Riddle was again, causing Harry yet more anguish, and looking as if he were an article of aestheticism come to life whilst he did so. His hair curled and furled its way into framing his face and it looked soft like butter even from a distance. 

Sam saw Harry short circuit and practically suck in his belly as he flattened himself as far behind Sam’s body as he could muster. 

“Harry, what’s going on? Who are you hiding from?” Sam reaffirmed, stepping out to somewhat block Harry and also crane his neck to identify potential guilty parties. His eyes landed on Riddle almost instantly and he then registered Avery beside him. 

“Oh, I think I know who,” he said, breathing through his mouth and watching them from afar.

“Just stop looking at them they might-”

“Harry?” 

Harry froze. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Harry repeated like a mantra under his breath. He closed his eyes to will the boy away, but his powers of the mind were redundant, Riddle was on the approach.

“Harry? It is you! I thought I saw you from the steps!” Harry opened his eyes to see Riddle, faux happiness so believable that you’d be fooled into thinking this was an innocent encounter (things were never innocent with Riddle, they were only designed to be). 

“Riddle… hello,” Harry managed. He straightened himself and acknowledged Avery with a tilt of his head, though he maintained a strict no eye contact policy. 

“Avery,”

“ **Evans** ,” Avery said his name slowly as if he were making fun of him. It bristled Harry, but he endeavoured not to show it. At least Riddle came to his defence, if giving Avery a look over his shoulder counted. 

Avery merely shrugged.

“Um, hello,” 

Harry blinked, realising Sam was still standing there on his right. 

“Sam! This is-”

“Yep, Riddle,” Sam extended his hand “Nice to meet you,”

Riddle, rather immediately, accepted it. There was a calculated warmth to the way his thumb seemed to press against the palm and his fingers hugged the back of the hand snugly without being invasive. He delivered a few succinct shakes, maintaining a firm hold on the hand all the while. It seemed to charm Sam into a smile.

“Charmed Sam, you’re a Bentley, aren’t you? Not related to the car?”

Sam’s eyes lit up; his own reference being used against him! 

“No, I’m afraid not,” he said, beaming and pressing his hands against the fabric of his trousers. Harry watched them with disappointment. 

“Sam, this here is my friend, Malum Avery,” Avery reached around Riddle with an outstretched hand and a whimsical look on his face. 

“Charmed,” he latched onto Sam and followed a similar procedure to Riddle before pulling back to his original post. 

Harry almost forgot that he was in the conversation until Riddle’s eyes slid over to him. A sadistic smile creeped around the corners of his mouth before it transformed into an image of pleasantness. 

“It is _such_ a fancy seeing you here! We didn’t think anyone else would be coming to the game,”

“ **Neither did I** ,” said Harry. He felt a jab around his ankle and flicked his eyes down to see Sam retreating his foot. 

“Well, we would have hated to miss it, you know. Such a thrilling match. That Gryffindor Keeper is sensational, I can’t wait to see how she plays,”

“Oh, my friend Mary-Ann is the Keeper,” Sam announced, pulling idly on the lengths of his scarf. Riddle looked over to him and raised his eyebrows, tilting his head.

“You don’t say!”

“She is. As you say, she is jolly good!”

“Phenomenal; why I’d say she could have a career out of it if she keeps it up! Does she have a particular team that she follows?”

“She likes the Holyhead Harpies,” Sam admitted, slipping his hands into his pockets. 

“What a wonderful fit!”

“Why, because she’s a woman?” Harry made a face at Riddle, but Riddle didn’t rise to it.

“No, because I believe the Holyhead Harpies to be an up-and-coming team. I think she would find great success there and likewise would be a wonderful asset to the team. And what a mentor she would find in Robin Demery, eh?”

Sam smiled and nodded. Harry could at least take that small joy away from the conversation, Sam had no interest in Quidditch. Quoting players and figures would not elicit a sporting opinion from Sam, perhaps slight admiration, but eventually boredom was guaranteed.

Riddle paused for a moment, found his bearings after not quite getting the response he had anticipated, and lavished Sam and Harry with a gleaming vision of his perfect teeth.

“We were just about to go find seats, but it looks as though there’s not much space to be found,” 

“ _Oh_ , isn’t that-”

“We could make some room for you if you’d like, couldn’t we Harry?” Sam drilled his eyes into Harry. Harry opened his mouth.

“I… thought we were going to watch this match together,”

“We’ll still be watching it together; what’s a few more? Makes things merrier, as they say,” Harry, feeling utterly cajoled, grunted and lowered his head in defeat. Sam turned to the pair of Slytherins and smiled. 

“Would that be alright with you?” Sam asked, looking from Riddle to Avery. Avery’s eyes rested on Riddle’s back, waiting like the obedient dog he was for Riddle’s orders. 

“We would be delighted for the company, thank you Sam,” 

“One problem, there’s no space for you,” Harry piped up, finally finding his fighting spirit again. 

Riddle had the audacity to not even be taken aback. Apparently, materialising a space in a sardine-like stand was as easy as approaching the girl beside Harry and charming her into moving over (again, into what Harry had no idea. She had made space, somehow, enough for two people. Either someone was originally hogging space or she had decided that it would be better to give up your spot for Tom Riddle and his entourage than stay watching a Quidditch game you could get a play-by-play of anyway by enthusiastic spectators at lunch). 

Due to the nature of the stand’s capacity however, Harry found himself pushed against Riddle, their shoulders touching. Dear god, could the snitch please have an off day today so he could go back to the library and cry in the corner or something?

Riddle didn’t seem to care, in fact it only seemed to add to his enjoyment. 

Harry let out an angry breath of steam and turned his head towards Sam’s ear. 

“Why did you invite them to sit with us? It’s too cramped,”

Sam gave him a look.

“They’re your friends, I want to get to know them,” he pouted. “Why, do you not want me to know them?”

“Not for the reasons you think,” Harry grumbled. Sam gave him a look of exasperation. 

“Did something happen between you? Do you want me to tell them to piss off?”

Harry snorted, colour returning to his cheeks. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m just sorry our friendship time was crashed by the very people who usually intrude on it,” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Sam then made a noise akin to a monkey. “There, look! The game’s about to start!”

Harry flicked his eyes over to the pitch where players donned in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff colours began to levitate off the turf (which seemed redundant for a game not played on foot but in mid-air). For a moment, Harry forgot where he was, who he was, all the pressures and complications that came with _why_ he was where he was, and was enraptured by the cheers, the excitement, the movements of brooms lazily slicing through the cold morning air. He could almost see the energy radiating from the lines of the masses around him, he could feel vividly the heat of bodies pressed to his sides, almost taste the scent of lemon and lime and pepper…

The whistle shattered the illusion, and the game was afoot. 

Harry looked over at Riddle who seemed too reserved to be spectating a sporting match. 

“Now, now, Harry, no one likes a voyeur,” Riddle chided, not removing his eyes from the relatively tame gameplay (so far).

Harry gaped but then shut his mouth. No, this was exactly the kind of reaction Riddle wanted and was expecting. He would not rise to-

“Funny that, you seemed to love being one,” 

Now Riddle looked to Harry.

“I did?”

“You were staring at me all of yesterday,” Harry stated hotly, shuffling the Gryffindor scarf around his neck.

“Hum…” Riddle watched as Harry settled the scarf in a less scratchy position. “Pledging your allegiance to Gryffindor now, are you?”

“I _am_ supporting the team, makes sense to wear the scarf,”

“Even as you wear your own underneath… interesting,” Harry didn’t even want to go into the ironic hypocrisy of what scarf really _was_ his own, so he settled for a non-committal grunt of surrender. 

Riddle raised an eyebrow and returned slowly to spectating the game. 

“What are you up to Riddle?”

“Up to?” Riddle followed the Quaffle slipping past Mary-Ann’s defences passively. “What would possess you to think that I’m up to something?”

“Well, for one, you brought your right-hand man with you,”

Riddle tore his eyes away from the game and made an effort to at least pretend to look at Avery. He then returned his attention to Harry, looked him up and down, and said: “Well, _he’s_ technically not my right-hand man, now is he?” 

Harry looked down at himself and then back up at Riddle. He coped on to the insinuation. 

“Very funny Riddle; didn’t know you had a sense of humour under all of that,”

Riddle scoffed.

“Under all of what!?”

“Secondly,” Harry raised his voice slightly, which some local spectators didn’t seem to like. “I don’t even think you like Quidditch,”

“Now that is a complete fallacy,” Riddle stated, twisting slightly to face Harry a bit more.

“You’re not on the Quidditch team and you don’t even seem remotely interested in it. Whenever Avery talks about it at dinner you always switch off, and you’ve never even watched any of the practice sessions,”

Riddle went quiet and just stared at Harry for a moment. Harry fidgeted with the Gryffindor scarf again. 

“Admit it, you’d much rather be in the library now than out here,” he finalised, strengthening his jaw and dropping his hand. 

Riddle cocked his head to the side after another moment. 

“You notice that?”

“What?” replied Harry, feeling a twinge in his stomach.

“You notice that I switch off when Avery talks about Quidditch?”

“Yeah, I-” Harry stopped himself. Dammit, it wasn’t like that; it wasn’t weird! Why did Riddle have to go twisting everything? The twisted bastard!

“Stop- trying to change the subject!”

“I’m not changing the subject-”

“You are,”

“-I’m simply commented on what you said. Frankly, I am very much interested in the subject,”

Cheers erupted around them which Harry skittishly joined in on.

“Did you see that! That goal was phenomenal. I bet Richie’s fuming he wasn’t the one who got it!” Sam gushed. Harry nodded cluelessly and gave a little laugh. Thankfully, Sam seemed a little too rapt up in the game to notice how off Harry sounded. 

Harry cleared his throat and waited for the crowd to calm down a decibel or two. 

“Why are you here Riddle? Really? And don’t give me some half-baked excuse this time,”

“Half-baked?” Riddle looked offended. He may do a lot of twisted, questionable things, but never could anyone accuse him of half-baking them. Riddle took a lot of care in preparing them, he wasn’t about to fail at the baking stage. That was the easiest part, the part that was the most fun. He wanted to enjoy what he’d baked; he would never take it out too early. 

But Harry didn’t seem to care one jot whether he had been offensive, he just gave Riddle a stern look. Riddle felt wronged in more ways than one. Harry was such an uppity git half the time. It often alluded Riddle why he even bothered, but then he’d screw back on his head and swallow his pride (definitely baked all the way through) and he'd remember the importance of Harry’s confidence. He **had** to secure that... so that he could one day dispose of him. 

“Why is it such an issue that I’m here?” Riddle asked in a levelled tone. 

“There you go again, dodging the bloody question,” Harry sighed and looked out into the pitch just in time to see the Hufflepuff seeker dart to the northern corner of the pitch.

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,”

Harry returned to looking at Riddle. He was focused on Harry. His brown eyes seemed to absorb all light and all attention, for Harry couldn’t seem to pull himself away. 

He fluttered his eyes shut and raised a hand to swipe at the hair on his forehead. Riddle’s attention seemed taken for a moment by the wink of Harry’s scar. But then it stayed. The attention was no longer taken, it was a willing captive. 

“What’s that?” Riddle queried, turning entirely away from the game. 

Harry froze and stilled his hand over the tip of the lightening bolt. 

For a moment he didn’t speak, and he found himself staring (and being stared at). He bolstered up some shields and focused on them rather than finding an immediate answer. But then he realised that it probably looked more suspicious to stay silently staring at someone, so he spoke up.

“A scar. The nurse said it was from that curse Neil put on me,” 

Riddle’s eyes transformed into pools of wonder; he was far away in the inner workings of his mind. 

“I didn’t know the Cruciatus Curse left a mark,”

“Well, it’s there isn’t it?”

Riddle’s eyes narrowed a fraction. 

“He didn’t aim for your head though. I thought it hit you in the chest,”

“I think my memory of it might be a bit more vivid than yours,” Harry swallowed. “I’ll answer your question,”

Riddle blinked at him, the natural dark shadowy pits of his eyes returning now that the fairy lights had been extinguished. 

“Pardon?” 

“You said you’d answer my question if I answered yours. It’s very simple really, I wanted to have some alone time with Sam,”

Riddle kinked an eyebrow. 

“Alone time?”

“Yes,” Harry affirmed. “I never sit with him anymore at lunch. In fact, I never much see him any time except potions. So, I thought that this game would finally be a way for us to meet up and spend some time together,”

“Oh,” Riddle’s face was puzzled, as evidenced by the tributary likeness to his eyebrows. His nose and mouth were poised on his face like a diver about to jump a great height into a pool below. “I didn’t realise you were so friendly,”

“Yes, well, I suppose we are,” Harry managed, unsure of how to respond in the first place. “A-anyway, aren’t you supposed to answer me now?”

“Hum? Oh yes… I am here because you are here,”

Harry stalled and gave Riddle a look.

“Come again?” 

“I saw you leave the library this morning which I thought slightly odd,” Riddle began, his attention ebbing and following as the commentator’s voice grew louder and louder over the tense pursuit of both teams' Seekers for a seemingly invisible snitch.

“Yes?” Harry said, doing his best to stare the attention out of Riddle. 

“I followed you, with Avery, to the pitch and the rest is, well…” 

Harry looked testily over to the commentator’s box. If he weren’t careful, he’d have a heart attack!

“Why are you telling me this?” Harry demanded. Riddle sighed, watching with dull interest a Hufflepuff Chaser score yet another goal.

“I thought you wanted to know why I was here?”

“W-well, yes I did but-”

“-Perhaps I shouldn’t have told the truth, it was obviously not what you wanted to hear-”

“-But I didn’t think you’d tell me outright! Why, why tell me that you followed me, hm? Can you blame me for being a little suspicious, a little uneasy, Riddle?”

“Uneasy? I don’t understand why you’d be uneasy-”

“Because it’s not at all like you is it? To go around telling the truth. You literally gave me a runic book not too long ago,”

“Now, I never-”

Harry whizzed up a finger to silence Riddle.

“Don’t say it, **don’t** say it, Riddle. Don’t even bother,” he grinded out. “Why would you tell me you were following me? How on earth do you expect me to respond to that?”

“You can respond however you like Harry. There’s no way I can control what you say,” Riddle mused, lifting his chin to see where the seekers had dipped off to.

“Yeuh- oh,” Harry turned his eyes from Riddle for a moment, processing a flash of information to his brain. 

“This is about that thing isn’t it?”

“What thing?” Riddle responded idly.

“ _That_ thing, Riddle,”

“You saying it like that isn’t helping me to understand you _more_ , Harry,”

“The-uh,” Harry leaned closer towards him so that he could lower his voice and direct it only to Riddle. “The Occlumency situation,”

Riddle smiled despite himself. 

“What?” Harry scowled, leaning away again.

“I- nothing. It’s just… you saying it so seriously,” Riddle looked away, fighting another smile. “It’s humorous,”

“I’ll show you bloody humorous,” Harry grumbled, tugging on his Gryffindor scarf again.

“But you’re correct, I suppose. It does have something to do with that,”

Harry felt a tickle along his scar, so he reached up to brush away the offending hair. 

“Okay,” he mumbled, continuing to swipe at his forehead.

“You ignored me,” Riddle stated, catching the spasm of the snitch glitter from down the other end of the pitch. 

“You were staring at me,” Harry countered, catching the same movement Riddle did, as he moved his hand back down to his side. 

Riddle chuffed eloquently.

“You just outed yourself as an Occlumens,” 

“You just outed yourself as a Legilimens,” 

The scar gave Harry a spot of bother again, a tickling, tingling sensation.

“Are you… alright?” he heard Riddle ask. 

“Of course,” Harry ran his fingers around the shell of his ear. “But, uh, I should really be the one who has a problem with you. You tried to legilimise me,” 

“And you blocked it,” Riddle’s attention seemed momentarily grabbed by one of Harry’s scarves, but it was back on Harry’s face before Harry had any time to verify. 

“You didn’t think I could?” Harry let out a burst of dry laughter and felt a prickle of cold zip up his spine. He tightened both woollen warmers around his throat. 

“I don’t think most people can, our age especially. It’s an obscure branch of magic; as is Legilimency… you don’t happen to know that as well, do you?”

“So, you’re here to interrogate me, eh?” Harry’s bitterness was trying to cover up the odd sensation building along the ridges his scar. He couldn’t let on to the confusion bubbling under his surface. His scar hadn’t affected him since… well, since that final battle when his link to that… _villain_ had been severed. It was supposed to stop being an object of torture; it should have been reduced to a simple, run-of-the-mill scar by now. So why the hell was he feeling things from it? 

He flickered a hand over it once more, appreciating the soothing cool sensation of his fingertips. 

“I’m here so that we can finally talk, end all of this game of hide and seek that we’ve been playing-”

Riddle was still talking, Harry knew that, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. It was as if the words slipped and fell before they could properly reach Harry’s ears. Sounds, dull sounds were all they were. 

If Harry had the ears of a dog, maybe he would have been able to pick up on that whispering properly. Harry was sure it was a whispering. It had to be. It couldn’t just be the wind, but who would be whispering during a Quidditch match? No one would hear you. Maybe that was the point? Was someone trying to keep quite about something? It was pretty annoying. Oh, hang on, it was getting louder.

Yeah, that couldn’t have been wind. It was icy but grating, like leaves being picked up by a frosty breeze. And it was building on top of other whispers, like they were all trying to bury one another. It was a rasping, awful sound. Harry checked behind his shoulder, but no one was whispering there. Neither was anyone in front of him.

“Harry?” That was probably Riddle, but Harry couldn’t focus on anything but the ominous slithering of whispers.

“Can you hear that?” Harry panicked, head twisting and turning (even checking the sky). 

Any reply was lost on Harry, whose hearing was plunged into a frenzy of whispering. Except, it wasn’t really whispering was it? It was Parsel-

BOOM!

A blast of searing pain exploded from Harry’s scar; the kind of pain Harry would feel when Voldemort was really, really angry. And screams, there were so many… screams… wait a minute.

Harry opened his eyes to pure and utter chaos. 

The stands had descended into a maddened fray of energy. Some people were pushing their way towards the exits, others seemed frozen in shock, or fear. Tears streamed down people’s faces, people were calling out to one another and whaling for certain prestigious wizards and gods alike to save them, help them. 

Harry was completely disorientated. All he knew was that the whispering had stopped and that it had been replaced by screams. It was hard to know which one was better. 

As he blinked at his surroundings, he noticed Sam take off at a sprint, shoving and jumping his way towards the pitch. His voice was distant, but even Harry could pick up on how hoarse it was. 

And then, Harry was being moved. Someone was grinding against his shoulder and it was all Harry could manage not to fall over. He was directed by sturdy hands down the aisle and pushed like a shield through the masses on the stairs.

The voice of an older gentleman dropped like a stone, echoing around the pitch, though Harry still couldn’t quite tune into the English language yet. But people seemed to continue about their business anyway, except this time they seemed to move with greater purpose. Harry held a hand limply to his scar and could detect it had grown horribly sensitive.

After the passing of a blur of faces, Harry came to a sharp sobering at the exit to the Quidditch pitch. Walking out onto the Hogwarts lawn, Harry witnessed a slamming back into reality. It was like being dumped into a bath of freezing cold water, and it was bracing to say the least. 

“Are you okay? Are you going to faint?”

“Riddle,” Harry managed, confused as he was. Riddle was there on his right, with a hand on Harry’s shoulder. It was positioned to prop him up, if Harry required it. Riddle’s eyes searched Harry’s face and Harry let him. He was just surprised to see Riddle being so thorough. Even if he probably did have an agenda.

“Are you alright Harry?” he repeated, with a bit more urgency now.

“Yes, I- I,” Harry cleared his throat and pulled the scarves down from his neck slightly. “I’m alright. I’m not going to faint,”

Riddle let out a breath and released his hand. 

“Good. Let’s get walking, shall we?” Riddle said, beginning to stalk away.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, hurrying after him.

“To the castle. Weren’t you listening? Dumbledore said we were to walk to the castle,” Riddle gave Harry a deeply curious look. 

“Oh, I must have…” Harry’s head drifted around, checking their surrounds. He stopped. “Where’s Avery? Shouldn’t we wait for him?” 

Riddle slowed out of courtesy but made no intention of stopping. 

“He’ll be alright, I told him I’d rendezvous with him later. Now let’s go, I don’t like the look of you,”

“What about Sam? Where did he run off too?” Now Riddle did stop. He breathed out a pipe of hot air. 

“He went off to see were his friends alright, though I doubt anyone would leave him down on the pitch. Security risk and all,” 

Harry froze. 

“My, my Harry, you’ve gone snow white! We’ll have to get you inside, come along,” Riddle linked an arm through one of Harry’s, and for once, Harry was thankful for the distraction of that _blasted_ cologne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOP... did ya miss me?
> 
> Bet ya didn't think you were working with a naïve lady who was sure she'd be able to transition into college during you-know-what and still be able to upload chapters bi-weekly. Well, that's what you're stuck with. 
> 
> I'll be honest with you all, I think I'm going to have to revise the whole biweekly thing. We'll see... I feel a lot more settled now, so I think I'll be able to find more chances to write but uh... no promises (I'm too scared to even read the comments lol cause I'm pretty sure everyone's ready to call the police on me XD. But I will once I've uploaded. hehe)
> 
> So anyway, this chapter, eh? Hope it was worth the wait. Once I got into it I started to enjoy it. I know it all seems very ominous, but there's nothing like a bit of drama to bring two characters together and to hurry the plot along. Who am I kidding, I'm going to be writing this fic for ages lol. 
> 
> Thanks for your continued support everyone. To all those reading the fic for the first time, hi lol, please stick around I'll get more organised in the future (hopefully). See you all later. 
> 
> ...
> 
> Oh shit, yeah, next time: Harry will be like brrruuuhh, what the heck happened? People will be theorising, not least of all Riddle (though he may have suspicions separate to those of others). And Mulciber. There will be Mulciber. (And maybe Lestrange) (And probably Malfoy).


End file.
